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GEORGE  :  WELLS  *  ARMES 
MEMORIAL  LiBRARY  *  *  + 
STiLE5  HALL BERKELEY 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

University  of  California. 

GIFT  OK 

Y.  M.  C.  A.  OF  U.  C 


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JMW<M  TRACT  SOCIETY, 


Nto 


lll4o 


CONTENTS 


Pagbs. 

THE  DAIRYMAN'S  DAUGHTER 32 

SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN 28 

'TIS  ALL  FOR  THE  BEST 20 

PARLEY  THE  PORTER 16 

THE  SPOILED  CHILD 28 

THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT 20 

THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE 28 

WILLIAM  KELLY 20 

THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER 44 

ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM 20 

THE  WATCHMAKER  AND  HIS  FAMILY 20 

LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER 24 

THE  TWO  OLD  MEN 16 

CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE 16 

THE  WELL-CONDUCTED  FARM 12 

THE  SWISS  PEASANT 12 

THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS 24 

THE  HONEST  WATERMAN 20 

THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER 24 

THE  AGED  PENITENT 8 

THE  CHRISTIAN  TRAVELLER 8 

THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER 16 

THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE .16 

MARY  OF  TOULOUSE 28 


101702 


NARRATIVE  I. 

THE  DAIRYMAN'S  DAUGHTER. 

BY  REV.  LEGH  RICHMOND. 

AN  AUTHENTIC  NARRATIVE-ABRIDGED. 


T  is  a  delightful  em- 
ployment to  trace  and 
discover  the  operations 
of  divine  grace,  as  they 
are  manifested  in  the 
dispositions  and  lives  ot 
God's  real  children.  It  is 
peculiarly  gratifying  to 
observe  how  frequently, 
among  the  poorer  classes 
of  mankind,  the  sunshine 
of  mercy  beams  upon  the 
heart,  and  bears  witness 
to  the  image  of  Christ, 
which  the  Spirit  of  G  od  has  impressed  thereupon.  Among 
such,  the  sincerity  and  simplicity  of  the  Christian  char- 
acter   appear   unencumbered   by  those    fetters  to   spirit- 

Eleg.  Nar.  1  * 


*&> 


2  dairyman's  daughter. 

uality  of  mind  and  conversation,  which  too  often  prove  a 
great  hinderance  to  those  who  live  in  the  higher  ranks. 
Many  are  the  difficulties  which  riches,  polished  society, 
worldly  importance,  and  high  connections  throw  in  the 
way  of  religious  profession.  Happy  indeed  it  is,  (and  som* 
such  happy  instances  I  know,)  where  grace  has  so  strik 
ingly  supported  its  conflict  with  natural  pride,  self-impor- 
tance, the  allurements  of  luxury,  ease,  and  worldly  opinions, 
that  the  noble  and  mighty  appear  adorned  with  genuine 
poverty  of  spirit,  self-denial,  humble-mindedness,  and  deep 
spirituality  of  heart. 

But,  in  general,  if  we  want  to  see  religion  in  its  purest 
character,  we  must  look  for  it  among  the  poor  of  this  world, 
who  are  rich  in  faith.  How  often  is  the  poor  man's  cot- 
tage the  palace  of  God !  Many  of  us  can  truly  declare, 
that  we  have  there  learned  our  most  valuable  lessons  of 
faith  and  hope,  and  there  witnessed  the  most  striking 
emonstrations  of  the  wisdom,  power,  the  goodness  of  God. 

The  character  which  the  present  narrative  is  designed 
to  introduce  to  the  notice  of  my  readers,  is  given  from  real 
life  and  circumstance.  I  first  became  acquainted  with  the 
Dairyman's  Daughter  by  the  reception  of  a  letter,  a  part 
of  which  I  transcribe  from  the  original,  now  before  me. 

"  Rev.  Sir — I  take  the  liberty  to  write  to  you.  Pray 
excuse  me,  for  I  have  never  spoken  to  you.     But  1  once 

heard  you  preach  at  church.     I  believe  you  are  a 

faithful  preacher,  to  warn  sinners  to  flee  from  the  wrath 
that  will  be  revealed  against  all  those  that  live  in  sin,  and 
die  impenitent. 

"  I  was  much  rejoiced  to  hear  of  those  marks  of  love 
and  affection  which  you  showed  to  that  poor  soldier  of  the 
S.  D.  militia.  Surely  the  love  of  Christ  sent  you  to  that 
poor  man ;  may  that  love  ever  dwell  richly  in  you  by  faith. 
May  it  constrain  you  to  seek  the  wandering  souls  of  men, 
with  the  fervent  desire  to  spend  and  be  spent  for  his  glory. 


"  Sir,  be  fervent  in  prayer  with  God  for  the  conviction 
and  conversion  of  sinners.  He  has  promised  to  answer  the 
prayer  of  faith,  that  is  put  up  in  his  Son's  name.  '  Ask 
what  you  will,  and  it  shall  be  granted  you.'  Through 
faith  in  Christ  we  rejoice  in  hope,  and  look  up  in  expecta- 
tion of  that  time  drawing  near,  when  all  shall  know  and 
fear  the  Lord,  and  when  a  nation  shall  be  born  in  a  day. 

"  What  a  happy  time,  when  Christ's  kingdom  shall 
come  !  Then  shall  *  his  will  be  done  on  earth,  as  it  is  in 
heaven.'  Men  shall  be  daily  fed  with  the  manna  of  his 
love,  and  delight  themselves  in  the  Lord  all  the  day  long. 

"  Sir,  I  began  to  write  this  on  Sunday,  being  detained 
from  attending    on    public    worship.     My  dear  and  only 

sister,  living  as  a  servant  with  Mrs. ,  was  so  ill  that 

I  came  here  to  attend  in  her  place,  and  on  her.     But  now 
she  is  no  more. 

"  She  expressed  a  desire  to  receive  the  Lord's  Supper, 
and  commemorate  his  precious  death  and  sufferings.  I 
told  her,  as  well  as  I  was  able,  what  it  was  to  receive 
Christ  into  her  heart;  but  as  her  weakness  of  body  in- 
creased, she  did  not  mention  it  again.  She  seemed  quite 
resigned  before  she  died.  I  do  hope  she  has  gone  from  a 
world  of  death  and  sin,  to  be  with  God  for  ever. 

"  My  sister  expressed  a  wish  that  you  might  bury  her. 
The  minister  of  our  parish,  whither  she  will  be  carried, 
cannot  come.  She  died  on  Tuesday  morning,  and  will  be 
buried  on  Friday  or  Saturday,  (whichever  is  most  conven- 
ient to  you,)  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Please  to 
send  an  answer  by  the  bearer,  to  let  me  know  whether  you 
can  comply  with  this  request. 

"  From  your  unworthy  servant, 

"Elizabeth  W e." 

I  was  much  struck  with  the  simple  and  earnest  strain  of 
devotion  which  the  letter  breathed.  It  was  but  indifferently 
written  and  spelt ;  but  this  the  rather  tended  to  endear  the 


dairyman's  daughter. 


hitherto  unknown  writer,  as  it  seemed  characteristic  of  the 
union  of  humbleness  of  station  with  eminence  of  piety.  I 
felt  quite  thankful  that  I  was  favored  with  a  correspondent 
of  this  description ;  the  more  so,  as  such  characters  were, 
at  that  time,  very  rare  in  the  neighborhood.  As  soon  as  it 
was  read,  I  inquired  who  was  the  bearer  of  it. 

"  He  is  waiting  at  the  outside  of  the  gate,  sir,"  was 
the  reply. 

I  went  out  to  speak  to  him ;  and  saw  a  venerable  old 
man,  whose  long  hoary  hair  and  deeply  wrinkled  counte- 
nance commanded  more  than  common  respect.  He  was 
resting  his  arm  and  head  upon  the  gate,  the  tears  were 
streaming  down  his  cheeks.  On  my  approach,  he  made 
a  low  bow,  and  said, 

"  Sir,  I  have  brought  you  a  letter  from  my  daughter ; 
but  I  fear  you  will  think  us  very  bold  in  asking  you  to  take 
so  much  trouble." 

"  By  no  means,"  I  replied  ;  "  I  shall  be  truly  glad  to 
oblige  you  and  any  of  your  family  in  this  matter." 

1  desired  him  to  come  into  the  house,  and  then  said, 

"  What  is  your  occupation  ?" 

"  Sir,  I  have  lived  most  of  my  days  in  a  little  cottage 

at ,  six  miles  from  here.     I  have  rented  a  few  acres 

of  ground,  and  kept  a  few  cows,  which,  in  addition  to  my 
day  labor,  has  been  my  means  of  supporting  and  bringing 
up  my  family." 

"  What  family  have  you  V9 

"  A  wife,  now  getting  very  aged  and  helpless ;  two 
sons  and  one  daughter ;  for  my  other  poor  dear  child  is  just 
departed  out  of  this  wicked  world." 

"  I  hope,  for  a  better." 

"  I  hope  so  too ;  poor  thing,  she  did  not  use  to  take  to 
such  good  ways  as  her  sister ;  but  I  do  believe  that  her 
sister's  manner  of  talking  with  her  before  she  died,  was 
the  means  of  saving  her  soul.  What  a  mercy  it  is  to  have 
such  a  child  as  mine  is  !     I  never  thought  about  my  own 


DAIRYMAN  S    DAUGHTER.  9 

soul  seriously  till  she,  poor  girl,  begged  and  prayed  me  to 
flee  from  the  wrath  to  come." 

"  How  old  are  you  V* 

"  Turned  seventy,  and  my  wife  is  older ;  we  are  get- 
ting old  and  almost  past  our  labor ;  but  our  daughter  has 
Jeft  a  good  place,  where  she  lived  in  service,  on  purpose  to 
come  home  and  take  care  of  us  and  our  little  dairy.  And 
a  dear,  dutiful,  affectionate  girl  she  is." 

"  Was  she  always  so?" 

"  No,  sir ;  when  she  was  very  young,  she  was  all  for 
the  world,  and  pleasure,  and  dress,  and  company.  Indeed 
we  were  all  very  ignorant,  and  thought,  if  we  took  care  for 
this  life,  and  wronged  nobody,  we  should  be  sure  to  go  to 
heaven  at  last.  ?»*y  daughters  were  both  wilful,  and,  like 
ourselves,  were  strangers  to  the  ways  of  God  and  the  word 
of  his  grace.     But  the  eldest  of  them  went  out  to  service ; 

and  some  years  ago  she  heard  a  sermon  preached  at 

church,  and  from  that  time  she  became  quite  an  altered 
creature.  She  began  to  read  the  Bible,  and  became  quite 
sober  and  steady.  The  first  time  she  came  home  after- 
wards to  see  us,  she  brought  us  a  guinea  which  she  had 
saved  from  her  wages,  and  said,  as  we  were  getting  old, 
she  was  sure  we  should  want  help ;  adding,  that  she  did 
not  wish  to  spend  it  in  fine  clothes,  as  she  used  to  do,  only 
to  feed  pride  and  vanity.  She  would  rather  show  grati- 
tude to  her  dear  father  and  mother  ;  and  this,  she  said, 
because  Christ  had  shown  such  mercy  to  her. 

"  We  wondered  to  hear  her  talk,  and  took  great  delight 
in  her  company,  for  her  temper  and  behavior  were  so  hum- 
ble and  kind,  she  seemed  so  desirous  to  do  us  good  both  in 
soul  and  body,  and  was  so  different  from  what  we  had  ever 
seen  her  before,  that,  careless  and  ignorant  as  we  had  been, 
we  began  to  think  there  must  be  something  real  in  religion, 
or*it  never  coul  I  alter  a  person  so  much  in  a  little  time. 

"  Her  younger  sister,  poor  soul,  used  to  laugh  and  ridi- 
cule her  al  that  time,  and  said  her  head  was  turned  with 


6  DAIRYMAN'S    DAUGHTER. 

her  new  ways.  *  No,  sister/  she  would  say,  «  not  my  head, 
out  I  hope  my  heart  is  turned  from  the  love  of  sin  to  the 
love  of  God.  I  wish  you  may  one  day  see,  as  I  do,  the 
danger  and  vanity  of  your  present  condition.' 

"  Her  poor  sister  would  reply,  <  I  do  not  want  to  heai 
any  of  your  preaching :  1  am  no  worse  than  other  people 
and  that  is  enough  for  me.'  <  Well,  sister,'  Elizabetl 
would  say,  l  if  you  will  not  hear  me,  you  cannot  hindei 
me  from  praying  for  you,  which  I  do  with  all  my  heart.' 

"  And  now,  sir,  I  believe  those  prayers  are  answered. 
For  when  her  sister  was  taken  ill,  Elizabeth  went  to  wait  in 
her  place  and  take  care  of  her.  She  said  a  great  deal  to 
her  about  her  soul ;  and  the  poor  girl  began  to  be  so  deeply 
affected,  and  sensible  of  her  past  sin,  and  so  thankful  for  her 
sister's  kind  behavior,  that  it  gave  her  great  hopes  indeed 
for  her  sake.  When  my  wife  and  I  went  to  see  her  as  she 
lay  sick,  she  told  us  how  grieved  and  ashamed  she  was  of 
her  past  life ;  but  said,  she  had  a  hope,  through  grace,  that 
her  dear  sister's  Saviour  would  be  her  Saviour  too ;  for  she 
saw  her  own  sinfulness,  felt  her  own  helplessness,  and  only 
wished  to  cast  herself  upon  Christ  as  her  hope  and  salvation. 

"  And  now,  sir,  she  is  gone,  and  I  hope  and  think  her 
sister's  prayers  for  her  conversion  to  God  have  been  an- 
swered.  The  Lord  grant  the  same,  for  her  poor  father  and 
mother's  sake  likewise." 

This  conversation  was  a  very  pleasing  commentary 
upon  the  letter  which  1  had  received,  and  made  me  anxious 
both  to  comply  with  the  request,  and  to  become  acquainted 
with  the  writer.  I  promised  the  good  old  Dairyman  I 
would  attend  the  funeral  on  Friday,  at  the  appointed  hour ; 
and  after  some  more  conversation  respecting  his  own  state 
of  mind  under  the  present  trial,  he  went  away. 

He  was  a  reverend  old  man;  his  furrowed  cheeks, 
white  locks,  weeping  eyes,  bent  shoulders,  and  feeble  gait, 
were  characteristic  of  the  aged  pilgrim  ;  and  as  he  slowly 
departed,  supported  by  a  stick,  which  seemed  to  have  been 


the  companion  of  many  a  long  year,  a  train  of  reflections 
occurred,  which  I  retrace  with  emotion  and  pleasure. 

At  the  appointed  hour  I  arrived  at  the  church ;  and 
after  a  little  while  was  summoned  to  meet,  at  the  church- 
yard gate,  a  very  decent  funeral  procession.  The  aged 
parents,  the  elder  brother  and  the  sister,  with  other  rela- 
tives, formed  an  affecting  group.  I  was  struck  with  the 
humble,  pious,  and  pleasing  countenance  of  the  young 
woman  from  whom  I  received  the  letter ;  it  bore  the  marks 
of  great  seriousness  without  affectation,  and  of  much  seren- 
ity mingled  with  a  glow  of  devotion. 

A  circumstance  occurred  during  the  burial  service, 
which  I  think  it  right  to  mention. 

A  man  of  the  village,  who  had  hitherto  been  of  a  very 
careless  and  even  profligate  character,  came  into  the  church 
through  mere  curiosity,  and  with  no  bettor  purpose  than 
that  of  a  vacant  gazing  at  the  ceremony.  He  came  like- 
wise to  the  grave ;  and  during  the  burial  service  his  mind 
received  a  deep,  serious  conviction  of  his  sin  and  danger, 
through  some  of  the  expressions  contained  therein.  It  was 
an  impression  that  never  wore  off,  but  gradually  ripened 
into  the  most  satisfactory  evidence  of  an  entire  change,  of 
which  I  had  many  and  long  continued  proofs.  He  always 
referred  to  the  burial  service,  and  to  some  particular  sen- 
tences of  it,  as  the  clearly  ascertained  instrument  of  bring 
ing  him,  through  grace,  to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth. 

The  day  was  therefore  one  to  be  remembered.  Re- 
membered let  it  be  by  those  who  love  to  hear  "  the  short 
and  simple  annals  of  the  poor." 

Was  there  not  a  manifest  and  happy  connection  be- 
tween  the  circumstances  that  providentially  brought  the 
serious  and  the  careless  to  the  same  grave  on  that  day  to- 
gether ?  How  much  do  they  lose,  who  neglect  to  trace  the 
leadings  of  God  in  providence,  as  links  in  the  chain  of  his 
eternal  purpose  of  redemption  and  grace  ! 

"  While  infidels  may  scoff',  let  us  adore." 


8  dairyman's  daughter. 

A  iter  the  service  was  concluded,  I  had  a  short  conver- 
sation with  the  good  old  couple  and  their  daughter.  Her 
aspect  and  address  were  highly  interesting.  I  promised  to 
visit  their  cottage;  and  from  that  time  became  well  ac- 
quainted with  them.  Let  us  bless  the  God  of  the  poor,  and 
pray  continually  that  the  poor  may  become  rich  in  faith, 
and  the  rich  be  made  poor  in  spirit. 

A  sweet  solemnity  often  possesses  the  mind,  while  re- 
tracing past  intercourse  with  departed  friends.  How  much 
is  this  increased,  when  they  were  such  as  lived  and  died  in 
the  Lord !  The  remembrance  of  former  scenes  and  con- 
versations with  those  who,  we  believe,  are  now  enjoying 
the  uninterrupted  happiness  of  a  better  world,  fills  the 
heart  with  pleasing  sadness,  and  animates  the  soul  with  the 
hopeful  anticipation  of  a  day  when  the  glory  of  the  Lord 
shall  be  revealed  in  the  assembling  of  all  his  children  to- 
gether, never  more  to  be  separated.  Whether  they  were 
rich  or  poor,  while  on  earth,  it  is  a  matter  of  trifling  con- 
sequence; the  valuable  part  of  their  character  is,  that 
they  are  now  kings  and  priests  unto  God.  In  the  number 
of  departed  believers,  with  whom  I  once  loved  to  converse 
on  the  grace  and  glory  of  the  kingdom  of  God,  was  the 
Dairyman's  Daughter.  I  propose  now  to  give  some  further 
account  of  her,  and  hope  it  may  be  useful  to  every  reader. 

A  few  days  after  the  funeral  of  the  younger  sister,  I 
rode  over  to  visit  the  family  in  their  own  cottage.  The 
principal  part  of  the  road  lay  through  retired,  narrow  lanes, 
beautifully  overarched  with  groves  of  nut  and  other  trees, 
which  screened  the  traveller  from  the  rays  of  the  sun,  and 
afforded  many  interesting  objects  for  admiration,  in  the 
beautiful  flowers,  shrubs,  and  young  trees,  .which  grew 
upon  the  high  banks  on  each  side  of  the  road.  Many  gro- 
tesque rocks,  with  little  streams  of  water  occasionally 
breaking  out  of  them,  varied  the  recluse  scenery,  and  pro- 
duced a  new,  romantic,  and  pleasing  effect. 

Here  and   there,  the   more  distant  and   nch   prospect 


dairyman's  daughter.  9 

beyond  appeared  through  gaps  and  hollow  places  on  the 
road-side.  Lofty  hills,  with  navy  signal-posts,  obelisks,  and 
light-houses  on  their  summits,  appeared  at  these  intervals ; 
rich  cornfields  were  also  visible  through  some  of  the  open 
places;  and  now  and  then,  when  the  road  ascended  any 
hill,  the  sea,  with  ships  at  various  distances,  opened  de- 
lightfully upon  me.  But,  for  the  most  part,  shady  seclu- 
sion, and  beauties  of  a  more  minute  and  confined  nature, 
gave  a  character  to  the  journey,  and  invited  contemplation. 

What  do  not  they  lose,  who  are  strangers  to  serious 
meditation  on  the  wonders  and  beauties  of  created  nature ! 
How  gloriously  the  God  of  creation  shines  in  his  works ! 
Not  a  tree,  or  leaf,  or  flower ;  not  a  bird,  or  insect,  but  pro- 
claims in  glowing  language,  "  God  made  me." 

As  I  approached  the  village  where  the  good  old  Dairy- 
man dwelt,  I  observed  him  in  a  little  field,  driving  a  few 
cows  before  him  towards  a  yard  and  hovel  which  adjoined 
his  cottage.  I  advanced  very  near  him,  without  his  ob- 
serving me,  for  his  sight  was  dim.  On  my  calling  out  to 
him,  he  started  at  the  sound  of  my  voice,  but  with  much 
gladness  of  countenance  welcomed  me,  saying,  "Bless 
your  heart,  sir,  I  am  very  glad  you  are  come ;  we  have 
looked  for  you  every  day  this  week." 

The  cottage-door  opened,  and  the  daughter  came  out, 
followed  by  her  aged  and  infirm  mother.  The  sight  of  me 
naturally  brought  to  recollection  the  grave  at  which  we 
had  before  met.  Tears  of  affection  mingled  with  the  smile 
of  satisfaction  with  which  I  was  received  by  these  worthy 
cottagers.  I  dismounted,  and  was  conducted  through  a 
very  neat  little  garden,  part  of  which  was  shaded  by  two 
large,  overspreading  elm-trees,  to  the  house.  Decency 
and  cleanliness  were  manifest  within  and  without. 

This,  thought  I,  is  a  fit  residence  for  piety,  peace,  ana 
contentment.  May  I  learn  a  fresh  lesson  in  each,  through 
the  blessing  of  God  on  this  visit. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  daughter,  "  we  are  not  worthy  that  you 

VOL.    I.  2  Eleg.  Nai 


10  DAIRYMAN'S    DAUGHTER. 

should  come  under  our  roof.     We  take  it  very  kind  tha» 
you  should  come  so  far  to  see  us." 

"  My  Master,"  I  replied,  "  came  a  great  deal  farther  to 
visit  us,  poor  sinners.  He  left  the  bosom  of  his  Father, 
laid  aside  his  glory,  and  came  down  to  this  lower  world  on 
a  visit  of  mercy  and  love;  and  ought  not  we,  if  we  profess 
to  follow  him,  to  bear  each  other's  Infirmities,  and  go  about 
doing  good  as  he  did?" 

The  old  man  now  came  in,  and  joined  his  wife  and 
daughter  in  giving  me  a  cordial  welcome.  Our  conversa- 
tion soon  turned  to  the  late  loss  they  had  sustained ;  and 
the  pious  and  sensible  disposition  of  the  daughter  was  pecu- 
liarly manifested,  as  well  in  what  she  said  to  her  parents, 
as  in  what  she  said  to  me.  I  was  struck  with  the  good 
sense  and  agreeable  manner  which  accompanied  her  ex- 
pressions of  devotedness  to  God,  and  love  to  Christ  for  the 
great  mercies  which  he  had  bestowed  upon  her.  She 
seemed  anxious  to  improve  the  opportunity  of  my  visit  to 
the  best  purpose,  for  her  own  and  her  parents'  sake ;  yet 
there  was  nothing  of  unbecoming  forwardness,  no  self-con- 
sequence or  conceitedness,  in  her  behavior.  She  united 
the  firmness  and  earnestness  of  the  Christian,  with  the 
modesty  of  the  female  and  the  dutifulness  of  the  daughter. 
It  was  impossible  to  be  in  her  company,  and  not  observe 
how  truly  her  temper  and  conversation  adorned  the  evan- 
gelical principles  which  she  professed. 

I  soon  discovered  how  eager  and  how  successful  also 
she  had  been  in  her  endeavors  to  bring  her  father  and 
mother  to  the  knowledge  and  experience  of  the  truth. 
This  is  a  lovely  circumstance  in  the  character  of  a  young 
Christian.  If  it  hath  pleased  God,  in  the  free  dispense 
tions  of  his  mercy,  to  call  the  child  by  his  grace,  while  the 
parents  remain  still  in  ignorance  and  sin,  how  great  is  the 
duty  of  that  child  to  do  what  is  possible  for  the  conversion 
of  those  to  whom  it  owes  its  birth  !  Happy  is  it  when  the 
ties  of  grace  sanctify  those  of  nature  ! 


DAUGHTEK  11 

This  aged  couple  evidently  looked  upon  and  spoke  of 
their  daughter  as  their  teacher  and  admonisher  in  divine 
things,  while  they  received  from  her  every  token  of  filial 
submission  and  obedience,  testified  by  continual  endeavors 
to  serve  and  assist  them  to  the  utmost,  in  the  little  concerns 
of  the  household. 

The  religion  of  this  young  woman  was  of  a  highly  spir- 
itual character,  and  of  no  ordinary  attainment.  Her  views 
of  the  divine  plan  in  saving  the  sinner,  were  clear  and 
scriptural.  She  spoke  much  of  the  joys  and  sorrows  which, 
in  the  course  of  her  religious  progress,  she  had  experi- 
enced ;  but  she  was  fully  sensible  that  there  is  far  more  in 
real  religion  than  mere  occasional  transition  from  one  frame 
of  mind  and  spirit  to  another.  She  believed  that  the  experi- 
mental acquaintance  of  the  heart  with  God,  principally  con- 
sisted in  so  living  upon  Christ  by  faith,  as  to  seek  to  live 
like  him  by  love.  She  knew  that  the  love  of  God  towards 
the  sinner,  and  the  path  of  duty  prescribed  to  the  sinner, 
are  both  of  an  unchangeable  nature.  In  a  believing  de- 
pendence on  the  one,  and  an  affectionate  walk  in  the  other, 
she  sought  and  found  "  the  peace  of  God  which  passeth  all 
understanding;"  "  for  so  he  giveth  his  beloved  rest." 

She  had  read  but  few  books  besides  her  Bible ;  but 
these  few  were  excellent  in  their  kind,  and  she  spoke  of 
their  contents  as  one  who  knew  their  value.  In  addition 
to  a  Bible  and  Common  Prayer-Book,  "Doddridge's  Rise 
and  Progress,"  "  Romaine's  Life,  Walk,  and  Triumph  of 
Faith,"  "  Bunyan's  Pilgrim,"  "  Alleine's  Alarm,"  "  Bax- 
ter's Saints'  Everlasting  Rest,"  a  hymn-book,  and  a  few 
Tracts,  composed  her  library. 

I  observed  in  her  countenance  a  pale  and  delicate  look, 
which  I  afterwards  found  to  be  a  presage  of  consumption; 
and  the  idea  then  occurred  to  me  that  she  would  not  live 
many  years.  In  fact,  it  pleased  God  to  take  her  hence 
about  a  year  and  a  half  after  I  first  saw  her. 

Time  passed  on  swiftly  with  this  little  interesting  fam- 


[2  dairyman's  daughter. 

ily ;  and  after  having  partaken  of  some  plain  and  whole- 
some refreshment,  and  enjoyed  a  few  hours'  conversation 
with  them,  I  found  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  return  home- 
wards. 

"I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  daughter,  "  for  your  Chris- 
tian kindness  to  me  and  my  friends.  I  believe  the  blessing 
of  the  Lord  has  attended  your  visit,  and  I  hope  I  have  ex- 
perienced it  to  be  so.  My  dear  father  and  mother  will,  I  am 
sure,  remember  it,  and  I  rejoice  in  an  opportunity,  which 
we  have  never  before  enjoyed,  of  seeing  a  serious  minister 
under  this  roof.  My  Saviour  has  been  abundantly  good  to 
me  in  plucking  me  'as  a  brand  from  the  burning,'  and 
showing  me  the  way  of  life  and  peace  ;  and  I  hope  it  is  my 
heart's  desire  to  live  to  his  glory.  But  I  long  to  see  these 
dear  friends  enjoy  the  comfort  and  power  of  religion  also." 
"  I  think  it  evident,"  I  replied,  "  that  the  promise  is  ful- 
filled in  their  case  :  '  It  shall  come  to  pass,  that  at  evening 
time  it  shall  be  light.'  " 

"  I  believe  it,"  she  said,  "  and  praise  God  for  the  blessed 
hope." 

"  Thank  him  too  that  you  have  been  the  happy  instru- 
ment of  bringing  them  to  the  light." 

"I  do,  sir ;  yet  when  I  think  of  my  own  un worthiness 
and  insufficiency,  I  rejoice  with  trembling." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  good  old  man,  "  I  am  sure  the  Lord 
will  reward  you  for  this  kindness.  Pray  for  us,  that,  old 
as  we  are,  and  sinners  as  we  have  been,  yet  he  would  have 
mercy  upon  us  at  the  eleventh  hour.  Poor  Betsey  strives 
hard  for  our  sakes,  both  in  body  and  soul ;  she  works  hard 
all  day  to  save  us  trouble,  and  I  fear  has  not  strength  to 
support  all  she  does ;  and  then  she  talks  to  us,  and  reads  to 
us,  and  prays  for  us,  that  we  may  be  saved  from  the  wrath 
to  come.  Indeed,  sir,  she's  a  rare  child  to  us." 
"Peace  be  to  you,  and  all  that  belong  to  you." 
"  Amen,  and  thank  you,  dear  sir,"  was  echoed  from 
each  tongue. 


dairyman's  daughter.  13 

Thus  we  parted  for  that  time.  My  returning  medita- 
tions were  sweet,  and,  I  hope,  profitable.  Many  other 
visits^vere  afterwards  made  by  me  to  this  peaceful  cottage, 
and  I  always  found  increasing  reason  to  thank  God  for  the 
intercourse  I  enjoyed. 

I  soon  perceived  that  the  health  of  the  daughter  was 
rapidly  on  the  decline.  The  pale  wasting  consumption, 
which  is  the  Lord's  instrument  for  removing  so  many 
thousands  every  year  from  the  land  of  the  living,  made 
hasty  strides  on  her  constitution.  The  hollow  eye,  the 
distressing  cough,  and  the  often  too  flattering  red  on  the 
cheek,  foretold  the  approach  of  death. 

I  have  often  thought  what  a  field  for  usefulness  and 
affectionate  attention  on  the  part  of  ministers  and  Christian 
friends,  is  opened  by  the  frequent  attacks  and  lingering 
progress  of  consumptive  illness.  How  many  such  precious 
opportunities  are  daily  lost,  where  Providence  seems  in  so 
marked  a  way  to  afford  time  and  space  for  serious  and  godly 
instruction  !  Of  how  many  may  it  be  said,  "  The  way  of 
peace  have  they  not  known  ;"  for  not  one  friend  came  nigh, 
to  warn  them  to  "  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come." 

But  the  Dairyman's  Daughter  was  happily  made  ac- 
quainted with  the  things  which  belonged  to  her  everlasting 
peace,  before  the  present  disease  had  taken  root  in  her  con- 
stitution. In  my  visit  to  her,  I  might  be  said  rather  to 
receive  information  than- to  impart  it.  Her  mind  was  abun- 
dantly stored  with  divine  truths,  and  her  conversation  was 
truly  edifying.  The  recollection  of  it  still  produces  a 
thankful  sensation  in  my  heart. 

I  one  day  received  a  short  note  to  the  following  effect : 

Dear  Sir, — I  should  be  very  glad,  if  your  conven- 
ience will  allow,  that  you  would  come  and  see  a  poor 
uriworthy  sinner:  my  hour-glass  is  nearly  run  out,  but  I 
hope  I  can  see  Christ  to  be  precious  to  my  soul.     Your 

conversation  has  often  been  blessed  to  me,  and  I  now  feel 

2# 


14  dairyman's  daughter. 

the  need  of  it  more  than  ever.     My  father  and  mother  send 
their  duty  to  you. 

From  your  obedient  and  unworthy  servant,  • 

Elizabeth  W . 

I  obeyed  the  summons  that  same  afternoon.  On  my 
ai  rival  at  the  Dairyman's  cottage,  his  wife  opened  the 
door.  The  tears  streamed  down  her  cheek,  as  she  silently 
shook  her  head.  Her  heart  was  full.  She  tried  to  speak, 
but  could  not.     I  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  said, 

"  My  good  friend,  all  is  right,  and  as  the  Lord  of  wis- 
dom and  mercy  directs." 

"  Oh !  my  Betsey,  my  dear  girl,  is  so  bad,  sir ;  what 
shall  I  do  without  her? — I  thought  I  should  have  gone  first 
to  the  grave,  but " 

"  But  the  Lord  sees  good,  that,  before  you  die  yourself, 
you  should  behold  your  child  safe  home  to  glory.  Is  there 
no  mercy  in  this  ?" 

"  Oh !  dear  sir,  I  am  very  old,  and  very  weak ;  and 
she  is  a  dear  child,  the  staff  and  prop  of  a  poor  old  creature, 
as  I  am." 

As  I  advanced,  I  saw  Elizabeth  sitting  by  the  fireside, 
supported  in  an  arm-chair  by  pillows,  with  every  mark  of 
rapid  decline  and  approaching  death.  She  appeared  to  me 
within  three  or  four  weeks  at  the  farthest  from  her  end.  A 
sweet  smile  of  friendly  complacency  enlightened  her  pale 
countenance,  as  she  said, 

"  This  is  very  kind  indeed,  sir,  to  come  so  soon  after  I 
sent  to  you.  You  find  me  daily  wasting  away,  and  I  can- 
not have  long  to  continue  here.  My  flesh  and  my  heart 
fail,  but  God  is  the  strength  of  my  weak  heart,  and  I  trust 
will  be  my  portion  for  ever." 

The  conversation  which  follows  was  occasionally  inter- 
rupted by  her  cough  and  want  of  breath.  Her  tone  of 
voice  was  clear,  though  feeble;  her  manner  solemn  and 
Qoliected ;  and  her  eye,  though  more  dim  than  formerly, 


DAIRYMAN  S    DAUGHTER. 


15 


by  no  means  wanting  in  liveliness  as  she  spoke.  1  had 
frequently  admired  the  superior  language  in  which  she  ex- 
pressed her  ideas,  as  well  as  the  scriptural  consistency  with 
which  she  communicated  her  thoughts.  She  had  a  good 
natural  understanding ;  and  grace,  as  is  generally  the  case, 
had  much  improved  it.  On  the  present  occasion  I  could 
not  help  thinking  she  was  peculiarly  favored.  The  whole 
strength  of  grace  and  nature  seemed  to  be  in  full  exercise. 

After  taking  my  seat  between  the  daughter  and  the 
mother,  (the  latter  fixing  her  fond  eyes  upon  her  child 
with  great  anxiety  while  we  were  conversing,)  I  said  to 
Elizabeth, — 

"I  hope  you  enjoy  a  sense  of  the  divine  presence,  and 
can  rest  all  upon  him  who  has  *  been  with  thee,'  and  has 
kept  '  thee  in  all  places  whither  thou  hast  gone,'  and  will 
bring  thee  into  !  the  land  of  pure  delights,  where  saints 
immortal  reign.'  " 

"  Sir,  I  think  I  can.  My  mind  has  lately  been  some- 
times clouded,  but  I  believe  it  has  been  partly  owing  to  the 
great  weakness  and  suffering  of  my  bodily  frame,  and 
partly  to  the  envy  of  my.  spiritual  enemy,  who  wants  to 
persuade  me  that  Christ  has  no  love  for  me,  and  that  I  have 
been  a  self-deceiver." 

"  And  do  you  give  way  to  his  suggestions  ?  Can  you 
doubt,  amidst  such  numerous  tokens  of  past  and  present 
mercy  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  mostly  am  enabled  to  preserve  a  clear  evi- 
dence of  his  love.  I  do  not  wish  to  add  to  my  other  sin? 
that  of  denying  his  manifest  goodness  to  my  soul.  I  would 
acknowledge  it  to  his  praise  and  glory." 

"What  is  your  present  view  of  the  state  in  which  you 
were  before  he  called  you  by  his  grace  ?" 

"Sir,  I  was  a  proud,  thoughtless  girl;  fond  of  dress 
and  finery ;  I  loved  the  world  and  the  things  that  are  in 
the  world;  I  lived  in  service  among  worldly  people,  and 
nnver  had  the  happiness  of  being  in  a  family  where  wor 


16  dairyman's  daughter. 

ship  was  regarded,  and  the  souls  of  the  servants  cared  for, 
either  by  master  or  mistress.  I  went  once  on  a  Sunday  to 
church,  more  to  see  and  be  seen,  than  to  pray,  or  hear  the 
word  of  God.  I  thought  I  was  quite  good  enough  to  be 
saved,  and  disliked  and  often  laughed  at  religious  people. 
I  was  in  great  darkness ;  I  knew  nothing  of  the  way  of 
salvation ;  I  never  prayed,  nor  was  sensible  of  the  awful 
danger  of  a  prayerless  state.  I  wished  to  maintain  the 
character  of  a  good  servant,  and  was  much  lifted  up  when- 
ever  I  met  with  applause.  I  was  tolerably  moral  and 
decent  in  my  conduct,  from  motives  of  carnal  and  worldly 
policy ;  but  I  was  a  stranger  to  God  and  Christ ;  I  neglect- 
ed my  soul ;  and  had  I  died  in  such  a  state,  hell  must,  and 
would  justly,  have  been  my  portion." 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  heard  the  sermon  which  you 
hope,  through  God's  blessing,  effected  your  conversion  «" 
"  About  five  years  ago." 
"  How  was  it  brought  about  If1 

"It  was  reported  that  a  Mr. ,  who  was  detained 

by  contrary  winds  from  embarking  on  board  ship,  as  chap- 
lain, to  a  distant  part  of  the  world,  was  to  preach  at 

church.  Many  advised  me  not  to  go,  for  fear  he  should 
turn  my  head  ;  as  they  said  he  held  strange  notions.  But 
curiosity,  and  an  opportunity  of  appearing  in  a  new  gown, 
which  I  was  very  proud  of,  induced  me  to  ask  leave  to 
go.  Indeed,  sir,  I  had  no  better  motives  than  vanity  and 
curiosity.  Yet  thus  it  pleased  the  Lord  to  order  it  for  his 
own  glory. 

"  I  accordingly  went  to  church,  and  saw  a  great  crowd 
of  people  collected  together.  I  often  think  of  the  contrary 
states  of  my  mind  during  the  former  and  latter  part  of  the 
service.  For  a  while,  regardless  of  the  worship  of  God,  I 
looked  around  me,  and  was  anxious  to  attract  notice  my- 
self. My  dress,  like  that  of  too  many  gay,  vain,  and  silly 
girls,  was  much  above  my  station,  and  very  different  from 
that  which  becomes  a  humble  sinner,  who  has  a  modest 


dairyman's  daughter.  1? 

sense  of  propriety  and  decency.     The  state  of  my  mind 
was  visible  enough  from  the  foolish  finery  of  my  apparel. 

"  At  length  the  clergyman  gave  out  his  text :  '  Be  ye 
clothed  with  humility.'  He  drew  a  comparison  between 
the  clothing  of  the  body  and  that  of  the  soul.  At  a  very 
early  part  of  his  discourse,  I  began  to  feel  ashamed  of  my 
passion  for  fine  dressing  and  apparel ;  but  when  he  came  to 
describe  the  garment  of  salvation  with  which  a  Christian  is 
clothed,  I  felt  a  powerful  discovery  of  the  nakedness  of  my 
own  soul.  I  saw  that  I  had  neither  the  humility  mentioned 
in  the  text,  nor  any  one  part  of  the  true  Christian  char- 
acter. I  looked  at  my  gay  dress,  and  blushed  for  shame 
on  account  of  my  pride.  I  looked  at  the  minister,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  as  a  messenger  sent  from  heaven  to  open  my 
eyes.  I  looked  at  the  congregation,  and  wondered  whethei 
any  one  else  felt  as  I  did.  I  looked  at  my  heart,  and  it 
appeared  full  of  iniquity.  I  trembled  as  he  spoke,  and  yet 
I  felt  a  great  drawing  of  heart  to  the  words  he  uttered. 

"  He  opened  the  riches  of  divine  grace  in  God's  method 
of  saving  the  sinner.  I  was  astonished  at  what  I  had  been 
doing  all  the  days  of  my  life.  He  described  the  meek, 
lowly,  and  humble  example  of  Christ ;  I  felt  proud,  lofty, 
vain,  and  self-consequential.  He  represented  Christ  as 
'  Wisdom ;'  I  felt  my  ignorance.  He  held  him  forth  as 
1  Righteousness  f  I  was  convinced  of  my  own  guilt.  He 
proved  him  to  be  '  Sanctification ;'  I  saw  my  corruption. 
He  proclaimed  him  as  '  Redemption  ;'  I  felt  my  slavery  to 
sin,  and  my  captivity  to  Satan.  He  concluded  with  an 
animated  address  to  sinners,  in  which  he  exhorted  them  to 
flee  from  the  wrath  to  come,  to  cast  off  the  love  of  out- 
ward ornaments,  to  put  on  Christ,  and  be  clothed  with 
true  humility. 

"  From  that  hour  I  never  lost  sight  of  the  value  of  my 
soul,  and  the  danger  of  a  sinful  state.  I  inwardly  blessed 
God  for  the  sermon,  although  my  mind  was  in  a  state  of 
great  confusion. 

VOL.  I.  5* 


18  dairyman's  daughter. 

"  The  preacher  had  brought  forward  the  ruling  passion 
of  my  heart,  which  was  pride  in  outward  dress ;  and  by 
the  grace  of  God  it  was  made  instrumental  to  the  awaken- 
ing of  my  soul.  Happy,  sir,  would  it  be,  if  many  a  poor 
girl,  like  myself,  were  turned  from  the  love  of  outward 
adorning  and  putting  on  of  fine  apparel,  to  seek  that  which 
is  not  corruptible,  even  the  ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet 
spirit,  which  is  in  the  sight  of  God  of  great  price. 

"  The  greater  part  of  the  congregation,  unused  to  such 
faithful  and  scriptural  sermons,  disliked  and  complained  of 
the  severity  of  the  preacher ;  while  a  few,  as  I  afterwards 
found,  like  myself,  were  deeply  affected,  and  earnestly 
wished  to  hear  him  again.    But  he  preached  there  no  more. 

"  From  that  time  I  was  led,  through  a  course  of  private 
prayer,  reading,  and  meditation,  to  see  my  lost  estate  as  a 
sinner,  and  the  great  mercy  of  God,  through  Jesus  Christ, 
in  raising  sinful  dust  and  ashes  to  a  share  in  the  glorious 
happiness  of  heaven.  And  oh,  sir,  what  a  Saviour  have  I 
found  !  He  is  more  than  I  could  ask  or  desire.  In  his  ful- 
ness I  have  found  all  that  my  poverty  could  need  ;  in  his 
bosom  I  have  found  a  resting-place  from  all  sin  and  sor- 
row ;  in  his  word  I  have  found  strength  against  doubt  and 
unbelief." 

"Were  you  not  soon  convinced,"  said  I,  "that  your 
salvation  must  be  an  act  of  entire  grace  on  the  part  of 
God,  wholly  independent  of  your  own  previous  works  or 
deservings  ?" 

"  Dear  sir,  what  were  my  works  before  I  heard  that 
sermon,  but  evil,  carnal,  selfish,  and  ungodly?  The 
thoughts  of  my  heart,  from  my  youth  upward,  were  only 
evil,  and  that  continually.  And  my  deservings,  what  were 
they,  but  the  deservings  of  a  fallen,  depraved,  careless 
soul,  that  regards  neither  law  nor  Gospel  ?  Yes,  sir,  I 
immediately  saw  that,  if  ever  I  were  saved,  it  must  be  by 
the  free  mercy  of  God,  and  that  the  whole  praise  and  honor 
of  the  work  would  be  his  from  first  to  last." 


dairyman's  daughter.  19 

"  What  change  did  you  perceive  in  yourself  with  re. 
spect  to  the  world  ?" 

"  It  appeared  all  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit.  I  found 
it  necessary  to  my  peace  of  mind  to  '  come  out  from  among 
them  and  be  separate.'  I  gave  myself  to  prayer  ;  and 
many  a  precious  hour  of  secret  delight  I  enjoyed  in  com- 
munion  with  God.  Often  I  mourned  over  my  sins,  and 
sometimes  had  a  great  conflict  through  unbelief,  fear,  temp- 
tation to  return  back  again  to  my  old  ways,  and  a  variety 
of  difficulties  which  lay  in  my  way.  But  he  who  loved 
me  with  an  everlasting  love,  drew  me  by  his  loving  kind- 
ness, showed  me  the  way  of  peace,  gradually  strengthened 
me  in  my  resolutions  of  leading  a  new  life,  and  taught  me 
that,  while  without  him  I  could  do  nothing,  I  yet  might  do 
all  things  through  his  strength." 

"  Did  you  not  find  many  difficulties  in  your  situation, 
owing  to  your  change  of  principle  and  practice  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  every  day  of  my  life.  I  was  laughed  at  by 
some,  scolded  at  by  others,  scorned  by  enemies,  and  pitied 
by  friends.  I  was  called  hypocrite,  saint,  false  deceiver, 
and  many  more  names,  which  were  meant  to  render  me 
hateful  in  the  sight  of  the  world.  But  I  esteemed  the  re- 
proach of  the  cross  an  honor.  I  forgave  and  prayed  for 
my  persecutors,  and  remembered  how  very  lately  I  had 
acted  the  same  part  towards  others  myself.  I  thought  also 
that  Christ  endured  the  contradiction  of  sinners ;  and,  as 
the  disciple  is  not  above  his  Master,  I  was  glad  to  be  in  any 
way  conformed  to  his  sufferings. " 

"  Did  you  not  then  feel  for  your  relatives  at  home  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  I  did  indeed,  sir ;  they  were  never  out  of  my 
thoughts.  I  prayed  continually  for  them,  and  had  a  longing 
desire  to  do  them  good.  In  particular,  I  felt  for  my  father 
and  mother,  as  they  were  getting  into  years,  and  were  very 
ignorant  and  dark  in  matters  of  religion." 

"  Ay,"  interrupted  her  mother,  sobbing,  "  ignorant  and 
dark,  sinful  and  miserable  we.  were,  till  this  dear  Betsey — 


20  dairyman's  daughter. 

this  dear  Betsey — this  dear  child,  sir,  brought  Christ  Jesus 
home  to  her  poor  father  and  mother's  house." 

"  No,  dearest  mother,  say  rather,  Christ  Jesus  brought 
your  poor  daughter  home  to  tell  you  what  he  had  done  for 
her  soul,  and  I  hope,  to  do  the  same  for  yours." 

At  this  moment  the  Dairyman  came  in  with  two  pails 
of  milk  hanging  from  the  yoke  on  his  shoulders.  He  had 
stood  behind  the  half-opened  door  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
heard  the  last  sentences  spoken  by  his  wife  and  daughter. 

"  Blessing  and  mercy  upon  her,"  said  he,  "  it  is  very 
true  ;  she  would  leave  a  good  place  of  service  on  purpose 
to  live  with  us,  that  she  might  help  us  both  in  soul  and 
body.  Sir,  don't  she  look  very  ill  ?  I  think,  sir,  we  shan't 
have  her  here  long." 

"  Leave  that  to  the  Lord,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  All  our 
times  are  in  his  hand,  and  happy  it  is  that  they  are.  I  am 
willing  to  go ;  are  not  you  willing,  my  father,  to  part  with 
me  into  his  hands,  who  gave  me  to  you  at  first  V9 

"  Ask  me  any  question  in  the  world  but  that,"  said  the 
weeping  father.  \ 

"  I  know,"  said  she,  "  you  wish  me  to  be  happy." 

"  I  do,  I  do,"  answered  he  :  "  let  the  Lord  do  with  you 
and  us  as  best  pleases  him." 

I  then  asked  her,  on  what  her  present  consolations 
chiefly  depended,  in  the  prospect  of  approaching  death. 

"  Entirely,  sir,  on  my  view  of  Christ.  When  I  look  at 
myself,  many  sins,  infirmities,  and  imperfections,  cloud  the 
image  of  Christ  which  I  want  to  see  in  my  own  heart.  But 
when  I  look  at  the  Saviour  himself,  he  is  altogether  lovely ; 
there  is  not  one  spot  in  his  countenance,  nor  one  cloud  over 
all  his  perfections. 

"  I  think  of  his  coming  in  the  flesh,  and  it  reconciles 
me  to  the  sufferings  of  the  body  ;  for  he  had  them  as  well 
as  1.  I  think  of  his  temptations,  and  believe  that  he  is  able 
to  succor  when  I  am  tempted.  Then  I  think  of  his  cross, 
and  learn  to  bear  my  own.     I  reflect  on  his  death,  and  long 


DAUGHTER.  21 

to  die  unto  sin,  so  that  it  may  no  longer  have  dominion  over 
me.  I  sometimes  think  on  his  resurrection,  and  trust  that 
he  has  given  me  a  part  in  it,  for  I  feel  that  my  affections 
are  set  upon  things  above.  Chiefly  I  take  comfort  in  think- 
ing of  him  as  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Father,  pleading  my 
cause,  and  rendering  acceptable  even  my  feeble  prayers, 
both  for  myself  and,  as  I  hope,  for  my  dear  friends. 

"  These  are  the  views  which,  through  mercy,  I  have 
of  my  Saviour's  goodness ;  and  they  have  made  me  wish 
and  strive  in  my  poor  way  to  serve  him,  to  give  myself  up 
to  him,  and  to  labor  to  do  my  duty  in  that  state  of  life  into 
which  it  has  pleased  him  to  call  me. 

"  A  thousand  times  I  should  have  fallen  and  fainted,  if 
he  had  not  upheld  me.  I  feel  that  I  am  nothing  without 
him.     He  is  all  in  all. 

"  Just  so  far  as  I  can  cast  my  care  upon  him,  I  find 
strength  to  do  his  will.  May  he  give  me  grace  to  trust  him 
to  the  last  moment !  I  do  not  fear  death,  because  I  believe 
he  has  taken  away  its  sting.  And  oh  !  what  happiness  be- 
yond !  Tell  me,  sir,  whether  you  think  I  am  right.  I 
hope  I  am  under  no  delusion.  I  dare  not  look,  for  my 
hope,  at  any  thing  short  of  the  entire  fulness  of  Christ. 
When  I  ask  my  own  heart  a  question,  I  am  afraid  to  trust 
it,  for  it  is  treacherous,  and  has  often  deceived  me.  But 
when  I  ask  Christ,  he  answers  me  with  promises  that 
strengthen  and  refresh  me,  and  leave  me  no  room  to  doubt 
his  power  and  will  to  save.  I  am  in  his  hands,  and  would 
remain  there ;  and  I  do  believe  that  he  will  never  leave  nor 
forsake  me,  but  will  perfect  the  thing  that  concerns  me. 
He  loved  me  and  gave  himself  for  me,  and  I  believe  that 
his  gifts  and  calling  are  without  repentance.  In  this  hope 
I  live,  in  this  I  wish  to  die." 

I  looked  around  me  as  she  was  speaking,  and  thought, 
"  Surely  this  is  none  other  than  the  house  of  God,  and  the 
gate  of  heaven."  Everything  appeared  neat,  cleanly,  and 
interesting.     The  afternoon  had  been  rather  overcast  with 

Elej?.  Nar.  3 


22 

dark  clouds,  but  just  now  the  setting  sun  shone  brightly 
and  rather  suddenly  into  the  room.  It  was  reflected  from 
three  or  four  rows  of  bright  pewter  plates  and  white  earth- 
enware arranged  on  shelves  against  the  wall ;  it  also  gave 
brilliancy  to  a  few  prints  of  sacred  subjects  that  hung  there 
also,  and  served  for  monitors  of  the  birth,  baptism,  crucifix- 
ion, and  resurrection  of  Christ.  A  large  map  of  Jerusalem, 
and  a  hieroglyphic  of  "  the  old  and  new  man,"  completed 
the  decorations  on  that  side  of  the  room.  Clean  as  was  the 
white-washed  wall,  it  was  not  cleaner  than  the  rest  of  the 
place  and  its  furniture.  Seldom  had  the  sun  enlightened  a 
house  where  order  and  general  neatness  (those  sure  attend- 
ants of  pious  and  decent  poverty)  were  more  conspicuous. 

This  gleam  of  setting  sunshine  was  emblematical  of  the 
bright  and  serene  close  of  this  young  Christian's  departing 
season.  One  ray  happened  to  be  reflected  from  a  little  look- 
ing-glass upon  the  face  of  the  young  woman.  Amidst  her 
pallid  and  decaying  features  there  appeared  a  calm  resigna- 
tion, triumphant  confidence,  unaffected  humility,  and  tender 
anxiety,  which  fully  declared  the  feelings  of  her  heart. 

Some  further  affectionate  conversation,  and  a  short 
prayer,  closed  this  interview. 

As  I  rode  home  by  departing  daylight,  a  solemn  tran- 
quillity reigned  throughout  the  scene.  The  gentle  lowing 
of  cattle,  the  bleating  of  sheep  just  penned  in  their  folds,  the 
humming  of  the  insects  of  the  night,  the  distant  murmurs 
of  the  sea,  the  last  notes  of  the  birds  of  day,  and  the  first 
warblings  of  the  nightingale^  broke  upon  the  ear,  and 
served  rather  to  increase  than  lessen  the  peaceful  serenity 
of  the  evening,  and  its  corresponding  effects  on  my  own 
mind.  It  invited  and  cherished  just  such  meditations  as 
my  visit  had  already  inspired.  Natural  scenery,  when 
viewed  in  a  Christian  mirror,  frequently  affords  very  beau- 
tiful illustrations  of  divine  truth.  We  are  highly  favored, 
when  we  can  enjoy  them,  and  at  the  same  time  draw  neai 
to  God  in  them. 


23 

Soon  after  this,  I  received  a  hasty  summons,  to  inform 
me  that  my  young  friend  was  dying.  It  was  brought  by 
a  soldier,  whose  countenance  bespoke  seriousness,  good 
sense,  and  piety. 

"  I  am  sent,  sir,  by  the  father  and  mother  of  Elizabeth 

W ,  at  her  own  particular  request,  to  say  how  much 

they  all  wish  to  see  you.  She  is  going  home,  sir,  very  fast 
indeed." 

"  Have  you  known  her  long  V9  I  replied. 

"  About  a  month,  sir ;  I  love  to  visit  the  sick,  and  hear- 
ing of  her  case  from  a  serious  person  who  lives  close  by  our 
camp,  I  went  to  see  her.  I  bless  God  that  ever  I  did  go. 
Her  conversation  has  been  very  profitable  to  me." 

"  I  rejoice,"  said  I,  "  to  see  in  you,  as  I  trust,  a  Irother 
soldier.  Though  we  differ  in  our  outward  regimentals,  I 
hope  we  serve  under  the  same  spiritual  Captain.  I  will  go 
with  you." 

My  horse  was  soon  ready.  My  military  companion 
walked  by  my  side,  and  gratified  me  with  very  sensible 
and  pious  conversation.  He  related  some  remarkable  tes- 
timonies of  the  excellent  disposition  of  the  Dairyman's 
Daughter,  as  they  appeared  from  some  recent  intercourse 
which  he  had  had  with  her. 

"  She  is  a  bright  diamond,  sir,"  said  the  soldier,  "  and 
will  soon  shine  brighter  than  any  diamond  upon  earth." 

Conversation  beguiled  the  distance,  and  shortened-  the 
apparent  time  of  our  journey,  till  we  were  nearly  arrived 
at  the  Dairyman's  cottage. 

As  we  approached  it,  we  became  silent.  Thoughts  of 
death,  eternity,  and  salvation,  inspired  by  the  sight  of  a 
house  where  a  dying  believer  lay,  filled  my  own  mind,  and, 
I  doubt  not,  that  of  my  companion  also. 

No  living  object  yet  appeared,  except  the  Dairyman's 
dog,  keeping  a  kind  of  mute  watch  at  the  door;  for  he  did 
not,  as  formerly,  bark  at  my  approach.  He  seemed  to 
partake  so  far  of  the  feelings  appropriate  to  the  circum- 


24  dairyman's  daughter. 

stances  of  the  family,  as  not  to  wish  to  give  a  hasty  or 
painful  alarm.  He  came  forward  to  the  little  wicket-gate, 
then  looked  back  at  the  house-door,  as  if  conscious  there 
was  sorrow  within.  It  was  as  if  he  wanted  to  say,  "  Tread 
softly  over  the  threshold,  as  you  enter  the  house  of  mourn- 
ing; for  my  master's  heart  is  full  of  grief." 

A  solemn  serenity  appeared  to  surround  the  whole 
place.  It  was  only  interrupted  by  the  breeze  passing 
through  the  large  elm-trees  which  stood  near  the  house, 
which  my  imagination  indulged  itself  in  thinking  were 
plaintive  sighs  of  sorrow.  I  gently  opened  the  door ;  no 
one  appeared,  and  all  was  still  silent.  The  soldier  fol- 
lowed*; we  came  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  They  are  come,"  said  a  voice  which  I  knew  to  be  the 
father's ;  "  they  are  come." 

He  appeared  at  the  top  ;  I  gave  him  my  hand,  and  said 
nothing.  On  entering  the  room  above,  I  saw  the  aged 
mother  and  her  son  supporting  the  much-loved  daughter 
and  sister ;  the  son's  wife  sat  weeping  in  a  window-seat, 
with  a  child  on  her  lap ;  two  or  three  persons  attended  in 
the  room  to  discharge  any  office  which  friendship  or  neces- 
sity might  require. 

I  sat  down  by  the  bedside.  The  mother  could  not 
weep,  but  now  and  then  sighed  deeply,  as  she  alternately 
looked  at  Elizabeth  and  at  me.  The  big  tear  rolled  down 
the  brother's  cheek,  and  testified  an  affectionate  regard. 
The  good  old  man  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  leaning  upon 
the  post,  and  unable  to  take  his  eyes  off  the  child  from 
whom  he  was  so  soon  to  part. 

Elizabeth's  eyes  were  closed,  and  as  yet  she  perceived 
me  not.  But  over  her  face,  though  pale,  sunk,  and  hollov; 
the  peace  of  God,  which  passeth  all  understanding,  had 
cast  a  triumphant  calm. 

The  soldier,  after  a  short  pause,  silently  reached  out  his 
Bible  towards  me,  pointing  with  his  finger  at  1  Cor.  15 : 
55-57.     I  then  broke  silence  by  reading  the  passage,  "  O 


25 

death,  where  is  thy  sting  ?  O  grave,  where  is  thy  victory  1 
The  sting  of  death  is  sin,  and  the  strength  of  sin  is  the  law. 
But  thanks  be  to  God,  which  giveth  us  the  victory,  through 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

At  the  sound  of  these  words  her  eyes  opened,  and 
something  like  a  ray  of  divine  light  beamed  on  her  counte- 
nance, as  she  said,  "  Victory,  victory !  through  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ." 

She  relapsed  again,  taking  no  further  notice  of  any  one 
present, 

"  God  be  praised  for  the  triumph  of  faith,"  I  said. 

"Amen,"  replied  the  soldier. 

The  Dairyman's  uplifted  eye  showed  that  the  Amen 
was  in  his  heart,  though  his  tongue  failed  to  utter  it. 

A  short  struggling  for  breath  took  place  in  the  dying 
young  woman,  which  was  soon  over,  and  then  I  said  to 
her — 

"  My  dear  friend,  do  you  not  feel  that  you  are  sup- 
ported  ?" 

"  The  Lord  deals  very  gently  with  me,"  she  replied. 

"  Are  not  his  promises  now  very  precious  to  you  V* 

"  They  are  all  yea  and  amen  in  Christ  Jesus." 

"Are  you  in  much  bodily  pain?" 

"So  little  that  I  almost  forget  it !" 

"  How  good  the  Lord  is  !" 

"  And  how  unworthy  am  I !" 

"  You  are  going  to  see  him  as  he  is."  - 

"I  think I  hope I  believe  that  I  am." 

She  again  fell  into  a  short  slumber. 

Looking  at  her  mother,  I  said,  "  What  a  mercy  to  have 
a  child  so  near  heaven  as  yours  is !" 

"  And  what  a  mercy,"  she  replied  in  broken  accents, 
"  if  her  poor  old  mother  might  but  follow  her  there  !  But 
sir,  it  is  so  hard  to  part — " 

"  I  hope  through  grace,  by  faith,  you  will  soon  meet,  to 
Dart  no  more ;  it  will  be  but  a  little  while." 

3* 


26 

"  Sir,"  said  the  Dairyman,  "  that  thought  supports  me, 
and  the  Lord's  goodness  makes  me  feel  more  reconciled 
than  I  was." 

"Father.... mother...."  said  the  reviving  daughter,  "he 
is  good  to  me. ...trust  him,  praise  him  evermore." 

"  Sir,"  added  she  in  a  faint  voice,  "  I  want  to  thank  you 

for  your  kindness  to  me I  want  to  ask  a  favor; you 

buried  my  sister will  you  do  the  same  for  me  ?" 

"All  shall  be  as  you  wish,  if  God  permit,"  I  replied. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  thank  you I  have  another  favor  to 

ask When  I  am  gone,  remember  my  father  and  mother. 

They  are  old,  but  I  hope  the  good  work  is  begun  in  their 
souls. ...My  prayers  are  heard. ...Pray  come  and  see  them.... 
I  cannot  speak  much,  but  I  want  to  speak,  for  their  sakes.... 
Sir,  remember  them." 

The  aged  parents  now  sighed  and  sobbed  aloud,  utter- 
ing broken,  sentences,  and  gained  some  relief  by  such  an 
expression  of  their  feelings. 

At  length  I  said  to  Elizabeth,  "  Do  you  experience  any 
doubts  or  temptations  on  the  subject  of  your  eternal  safety  V 

"No,  sir;  the  Lord  deals  very  gently  with  me,  and 
gives  me  peace." 

"  What  are  your  views  of  the  dark  valley  of  death, 
now  that  you  are  passing  through  it  ?" 

"  It  is  not  dark." 

"  Why  so  ?" 

"  My  Lord  is  there,  and  he  is  my  light  and  my  salva 
tion." 

"  Have  you  any  fears  of  more  bodily  suffering  ?" 

"  The  Lord  deals  so  gently  with  me,  I  can  trust  him." 

Something  of  a  convulsion  came  on.  When  it  was 
past,  she  said  again  and  again, 

"  The  Lord  deals  very  gently  with  me.  Lord,  I  am 
thine,  save  me.... Blessed  Jesus.... Precious  Saviour.... His 
blood  cleanseth  from  all  sin....Who  shall  separate  ?.... His 
name  is  Wonderful.... Thanks  be  to  God.. ..He  giveth  us 


dairyman's  daughter.  27 

the  victory.... I,  even  I,  am  saved.... 0  grace,  mercy,  and 
wonder — Lord,  receive  my  spirit. 

"Dear  sir.. ..dear  father,  mother,  friends,  I  am  going..., 
but  all  is  well,  well,  well ." 

She  relapsed  again — We  knelt  down  to  prayer — The 
Lord  was  in  the  midst  of  us,  and  blessed  us. 

She  did  not  again  revive  while  I  remained,  nor  ever 
speak  any  more  words  which  could  be  understood.  She 
slumbered  for  about  ten  hours,  and  at  last  sweetly  fell 
asleep  in  the  arms  of  the  Lord,  who  had  dealt  so  gently 
with  her. 

I  left  the  house  an  hour  after  she  had  ceased  to  speak. 
I  pressed  her  hand  as  I  was  taking  leave,  and  said, 
"  Christ  is  the  resurrection  and  the  life." 

She  gently  returned  the  pressure,  but  could  neither 
open  her  eyes  nor  utter  a  reply.  I  never  had  witnessed  a 
scene  so  impressive  as  this  before.  It  completely  filled  my 
imagination  as  I  returned  home. 

"  Farewell,"  thought  I,  "  dear  friend,  till  the  morning 
of  an  eternal  day  shall  renew  our  personal  intercourse. 
Thou  wast  a  brand  plucked  from  the  burning,  that  thou 
mightest  become  a  star  shining  in  the  firmament  of  glory. 
I  have  seen  thy  light,  and  thy  good  works,  and  I  will 
therefore  glorify  our  Father  which  is  in  heaven.  J  have 
seen  in  thy  example,  what  it  is  to  be  a  sinner  freely  saved 
by  grace.  I  have  learned  from  thee,  as  in  a  living  mir- 
ror, who  it  is,  that  begins,  continues,  and  ends  the  work 
of  faith  and  love.  Jesus  is  all  in  all ;  he  will  and  shall  be 
glorified.  He  won  the  crown,  and  alone  deserves  to  wear 
it.  May  no  one  attempt  to  rob  him  of  his  glory ;  he  saves, 
and  saves  to  the  uttermost.  Farewell,  dear  sister  in  the 
Lord.  Thy  flesh"  and  thy  heart  may  fail ;  but  God  is  the 
strength  of  thy  heart,  and  shall  be  thy  portion  for  ever." 

I  was  soon  called  to  attend  the  funeral  of  my  friend, 
who  breathed  her  last  shortly  after  my  visit.  Many  pleas- 
ing yet  melancholy  thoughts  were  connected  with  the  ful- 


28  dairyman's  daughter. 

filment  of  this  task.  I  retraced  the  numerous  and  important 
conversations  which  I  had  held  with  her.  But  these  could 
now  no  longer  be  held  on  earth.  I  reflected  on  the  in- 
teresting and  improving  nature  of  Christian  friendships, 
whether  formed  in  palaces  or  in  cottages ;  and  felt  thank 
ful  that  I  had  so  long  enjoyed  that  privilege  with  the  sub- 
ject of  this  memorial.  I  indulged  a  sigh,  for  a  moment, 
on  thinking  that  I  could  no  longer  hear  the  great  truths  of 
Christianity  uttered  by  one  who  had  drunk  so  deep  of  the 
waters  of  life.  But  the  rising  murmur  was  checked  by 
the  animating  thought,  "  She  is  gone  to  eternal  rest — could 
I  wish  to  bring  her  back  to  this  vale  of  tears  ?" 

As  I  travelled  onward  to  the  house  where  lay  her  re- 
mains in  solemn  preparation  for  the  grave,  the  first  sound 
of  a  tolling  bell  struck  my  ear.  It  proceeded  from  a  vil- 
lage church  in  the  valley  directly  beneath  the  ridge  of  a 
high  hill,  over  which  I  had  taken  my  way — it  was  Eliza, 
beth's  funeral  knell.  It  was  a  solemn  sound,  but  it  seemed 
to  proclaim  at  once  the  blessedness  of  the  dead  who  die  in 
the  Lord,  and  the  necessity  of  the  living  pondering  these 
things,  and  laying  them  to  heart. 

On  entering  the  cottage,  I  found  that  several  Christian 
friends,  from  different  parts  of  the  neighborhood,  had  as- 
sembled together  to  show  their  last  tribute  of  esteem  and 
regard  to  the  memory  of  the  Dairyman's  Daughter. 

I  was  requested  to  go  into  the  chamber  where  the 
relatives  and  a  few  other  friends  were  gone  to  take  a  last 
look  at  the  remains  of  Elizabeth. 

If  there  be  a  moment  when  Christ  and  salvation,  death, 
judgment,  heaven,  and  hell,  appear  more  than  ever  to  be 
momentous  subjects  of  meditation,  it  is  that  which  brings 
us  to  the  side  of  a  coffin  containing  the  body  of  a  departed 
believer. 

Elizabeth's  features  were  altered,  but  much  of  her  like- 
ness remained.  Her  father  and  mother  sat  at  the  head, 
her  briber  at  the  foot  of  the  coffin,  manifesting  their  deep 


29 

and  unfeigned  sorrow.  The  weakness  and  infirmity  of  old 
age  added  a  character  to  the  parents'  grief,  which  called 
for  much  tenderness  and  compassion. 

A  remarkably  decent-looking  woman,  who  had  the 
management  of  the  few  simple,  though  solemn  ceremonies 
^hich  the  case  required,  advanced  towards  me,  saying, 

"  Sir,  this  is  rather  a  sight  of  joy  than  of  sorrow.  Oui 
dear  friend  Elizabeth  finds  it  to  be  so,  I  have  no  doubt 
She  is  beyond  all  sorrow.     Do  you  not  think  she  is,  sir  ?'' 

"After  what  I  have  known,  and  seen,  and  heard,"  ] 
replied,  "  I  feel  the  fullest  assurance,  that,  while  her  bod} 
remains  here,  her  soul  is  with  her  Saviour  in  Paradise. 
She  loved  him  here,  and  there  she  enjoys  the  pleasure? 
which  are  at  his  right  hand  for  evermore." 

"  Mercy,  mercy  upon  a  poor  old  creature  almost  broken 
down  with  age  and  grief,  what  shall  I  do  ?  Betsey's  gone — 
my  daughter's  dead.  Oh  !  my  child,  I  shall  never  see  thee 
more  !  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner !"  sobbed  out  the 
poor  mother. 

"  That  last  prayer,  my  dear  good  woman,"  said  I, 
"  will  bring  you  together  again.  It  is  a  cry  that  has 
brought  thousands  to  glory.  It  brought  your  daughter 
thither,  and  I  hope  it  will  bring  you  there  likewise.  He 
will  in  no  wise  cast  out  any  that  come  to  him." 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  Dairyman,  breaking  the  long  si- 
lence he  had  maintained,  "  let  us  trust  God  with  our  child, 
and  let  us  trust  him  with  our  ownselves.  The  Lord  gave, 
and  the  Lord  has  taken  away ;  blessed  be  the  name  of  the 
Lord !  We  are  old,  and  can  have  but  a  little  farther  to 
travel  in  our  journey,  and  then" — he  could  say  no  more. 

The  soldier  before  mentioned  reached  a  Bible  into  my 
■hand,  and  said,  '•'  Perhaps,  sir,  you  would  not  object  to 
reading  a  chapter  before  we  go  to  the  church." 

I  did  so ;  it  was  the  fourteenth  of  the  book  of  Job.  A 
sweet  tranquillity  prevailed  while  I  read  it.  Each  minute 
that  was  spent  in  this  funeral-chamber,  seemed  to  be  valu 


30  dairyman's  daughter. 

able.     I  made  a  few  observations  on  the  chapter,  and  con- 
nected them  with  the  case  of  our  departed  sister. 

"I  am  but  a  poor  soldier,"  said  our  military  friend, 
"  and  have  nothing  of  this  world's  goods  beyond  my  daily 
subsistence ;  but  I  would  not  exchange  my  hope  of  salva- 
tion in  the  next  world,  for  all  that  this  world  could  bestow 
without  it.  What  is  wealth  without  grace  ?  Blessed  be 
God,  as  I  march  about  from  one  quarter  to  another,  I  still 
find  the  Lord  wherever  I  go ;  and  thanks  be  to  his  holy 
name,  he  is  here  to-day  in  the  midst  of  this  company  of  the 
living  and  the  dead.     I  feel  that  it  is  good  to  be  here." 

Some  other  persons  present  began  to  take  a  part  in  the 
conversation,  in  the  course  of  which  the  life  and  experience 
of  the  Dairyman's  Daughter  were  brought  forward  in  a 
very  interesting  manner ;  each  friend  had  something  to  re- 
late in  testimony  of  her  gracious  disposition.  One  distant 
relative,  a  young  woman  under  twenty,  who  had  hitherto 
been  a  very  light  and  trifling  character,  appeared  to  be  re- 
markably impressed  by  the  conversation  of  that  day ;  and 
I  have  since  had  ground  to  believe  that  divine  grace  then 
began  to  influence  her  in  the  choice  of  that  better  part, 
which  shall  not  be  taken  from  her. 

What  a  contrast  does  such  a  scene  as  this  exhibit, 
when  compared  with  the  dull,  formal,  unedifying,  and 
often  indecent  manner  in  which  funeral  parties  assemble 
in  the  house  of  death  ! 

But  the  time  for  departure  to  the  church  was  now  at 
hand.  I  went  to  take  my  last  look  at  the  deceased.  There 
was  much  written  on  her  countenance :  she  had  evidently 
departed  with  a  smile.  It  still  remained,  and  spoke  the 
tranquillity  of  her  departing  soul.  According  to  the  custom 
of  the  place,  she  was  decorated  with  leaves  and  flowers  in 
the  cofiin ;  these  indeed  were  fading  flowers,  but  they  re- 
minded me  of  that  Paradise  whose  flowers  are  immortal, 
and  where  her  never-dying  soul  is  at  rest. 

I  remembered  the  last  words  which  I  had  heard  her 


dairyman's  daughter.  31 

speak,  and  was  instantly  struck  with  the  happy  thought, 
that  "  death  was  indeed  swallowed  up  in  victory. " 

As  I  slowly  retired,  I  said  inwardly,  "  Peace,  my  honored 
sister,  to  thy  memory,  and  to  my  soul,  till  we  meet  in  a  bet- 
ter world." 

In  a  little  time  the  procession  formed  ;  it  was  rendered 
the  more  interesting  by  the  consideration  of  so  many  that 
followed  the  coffin  being  persons  of  truly  serious  and  spir- 
itual character. 

After  we  had  advanced  about  a  hundred  yards,  my 
meditation  was  unexpectedly  and  most  agreeably  inter- 
rupted by  the  friends,  who  followed  the  family,  beginning 
to  sing  a  funeral  Psalm.  Nothing  could  be  more  sweet  or 
solemn.  The  well-known  effect  of  the  open  air  in  soften- 
ing and  blending  the  sounds  of  music  was  here  peculiarly 
felt.  The  road  through  which  we  passed  was  beautiful 
and  romantic :  it  lay  at  the  foot  of  a  hill,  which  occasion- 
ally reechoed  the  voices  of  the  singers,  and  seemed  to  give 
faint  replies  to  the  notes  of  the  mourners.  The  funeral 
knell  was  distinctly  heard  from  the  church  tower,  and 
greatly  increased  the  effect  which  this  simple  and  becoming 
service  produced. 

I  cannot  describe  the  state  of  my  own  mind  as  pecu- 
liarly connected  with  the  solemn  singing.  I  never  wit- 
nessed a  similar  instance  before  or  since.  I  was  reminded 
of  elder  times  and  ancient  piety.  I  wished  the  practice 
more  frequent.  It  seems  well  calculated  to  excite  and 
cherish  devotion  and  religious  affections. 

We  at  length  arrived  at  the  church.  The  service  was 
heard  with  deep  and  affectionate  attention.  When  we 
came  to  the  grave,  the  hymn  which  Elizabeth  had  selected 
was  sung.  All  was  devout,  simple,  decent,  animating. 
We  committed  our  dear  friend's  body  to  the  grave,  in  full 
hope  of  a  joyful  resurrection  from  the  dead. 

Thus  was  the  vail  of  separation  drawn  for  a  season. 
She  is  departed  and  no  more  seen.     But  she  will  be  seen  at 


32  dairyman's  daughter. 

the  right  hand  of  her  Redeemer  at  the  last  day ,  and  will 
again  appear  to  his  glory,  a  miracle  of  grace  and  a  monu 
ment  of  mercy. 

My  reader,  rich  or  poor,  shall  you  and  I  appear  there 
likewise  1  Are  we  "  clothed  with  humility,"  and  arrayed 
in  the  wedding-garment  of  a  Redeemer's  righteousness? 
Are  we  turned  from  idols  to  serve  the  -living  God  ?  Are 
we  sensible  of  our  own  emptiness,  flying  to  a  Saviour's 
fulness  to  obtain  grace  and  strength  ?  Do  we  live  in  him, 
and  on  him,  and  by  him,  and  with  him  ?  Is  he  our  all  in 
all  1     Are  we  "  lost  and  found  ;"  "  dead,  and  alive  again  V 

My  poor  reader,  the  Dairyman's  Daughter  was  a  poor 
girl,  and  the  child  of  a  poor  man.  Herein  thou  resem- 
blest  her :  but  dost  thou  resemble  her,  as  she  resembled 
Christ  ?  Art  thou  made  rich  by  faith  ?  Hast  thou  a  crown 
laid  up  for  thee  ?  Is  thine  heart  set  upon  heavenly  riches  ? 
If  not,  read  this  story  once  more,  and  then  pray  earnestly 
for  like  precious  faith.  If,  through  grace,  thou  dost  love 
and  serve  the  Redeemer  that  saved  the  Dairyman's  Daugh- 
ter, grace,  peace,  and  mercy  be  with  thee.  The  lines  are 
fallen  unto  thee  in  pleasant  places  :  thou  hast  a  goodly  heri- 
tage. Press  forward  in  duty,  and  wait  upon  the  Lord, 
possessing  thy  soul  in  holy  patience.  Thou  hast  just  been 
with  me  to  the  grave  of  a  departed  believer.  Now  "  go  thy 
way  till  the  end  be ;  for  thou  shalt  rest,  and  stand  in  thy 
lot  at  the  end  of  the  days."     Dan.  12  :  13. 

Note. — The  mother  died  about  six  months  after  her  daughter, 
and  I  have  good  reason  to  believe  that  God  was  merciful  to  her,  and 
took  her  to  himself.  May  every  converted  child  thus  labor  and  pray 
for  the  salvation  of  their  unconverted  parents.  The  father  continued 
for  some  time  after  her,  and  adorned  his  old  age  with  a  walk  and  con- 
versation becoming  the  Gospel.  I  cannot  doubt  that  the  daughter  and 
both  her  parents  are  now  met  together  in  "  the  land  of  pure  delights, 
where  saints  immortal  reign." 


NARRATIVE  II. 

THE 

SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

BY   MRS.  HANNAH  MORE. 


R.  JOHNSON,  a  very  worthy, 
cliaritable  gentleman,  was  travel- 
ling some  time  ago  across  one  of 
those  vast  plains,  which  are  well 
known  in  Wiltshire.  It  was  a 
fine  summer's  evening,  and  he 
rode  slowly,  that  he  might  have 
leisure  to  admire  God  in  the 
works  of  his  creation.  For  this  gentleman  was  of  opinion, 
that  a  walk  or  a  ride  was  as  proper  a  time  as  any  to  think 
about  o-ood  things :  for  which  reason,  on  such  occasions,  he 
seldom  thought  so  much  about  his  money,  or  his  trade,  or 
public  news,  as  at  other  times,  that  he  might  with  more  ease 
and  satisfaction  em'ov  the  pious  thoughts  which  the  visible 


2  SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

works  of  the  great  Maker  of  heaven  and  earth  are  intend- 
ed to  raise  in  the  mind. 

His  attention  was  all  of  a  sudden  called  off  by  the 
barking  of  a  shepherd's  dog,  and  looking  up,  he  spied  one 
of  those  little  huts  which  are  here  and  there  to  be  seen 
on  those  great  Downs  ;  and  near  it  was  the  shepherd 
himself,  busily  employed  with  his  dog  in  collecting  together 
his  vast  flock  of  sheep.  As  he  drew  nearer,  he  perceived 
him  to  be  a  clean,  well-looking  poor  man,  near  fifty  years 
of  age.  His  coat,  though  at  first  it  had  probably  been 
of  one  dark  color,  had  been  in  a  long  course  of  years  so 
often  patched  with  different  sorts  of  cloth,  that  it  was 
now  become  hard  to.  say  which  had  been  the  original 
color.  But  this,  while  it  gave  plain  proof  of  the  shep- 
herd's poverty,  equally  proved  the  exceeding  neatness, 
industry,  and  good  management  of  his  wife.  His  stock- 
ings no  less  proved  her  good  housewifery,  for  they  were 
entirely  covered  with  darns  of  different  colored  worsted, 
but  had  not  a  hole  in  them ;  and  his  shirt,  though  nearly 
as  coarse  as  the  sails  of  a  ship,  was  as  white  as  the 
drifted  snow,  and  was  neatly  mended  where  time  had 
either  made  a  rent  or  worn  it  thin.  This  furnishes  a  rule 
of  judging,  by  which  one  will  seldom  be  deceived.  If  I 
meet  with  a  laborer  hedging,  ditching,  or  mending  the 
highways,  with  his  stockings  and  shirt  tight  and  whole, 
however  mean  and  bad  his  other  garments  are,  I  have 
seldom  failed,  on  visiting  his  cottage,  to  find  that  also 
clean  and  well-ordered,  and  his  wife  notable,  and  worthy 
of  encouragement.  Whereas  a  poor  woman  who  will  be 
lying  abed,  or  gossiping  with  her  neighbors,  when  she 
ought  to  be  fitting  out  her  husband  in  a  cleanly  manner, 
will  seldom  be  found  to  be  very  good  in  other  respects. 

This  was  not  the  case  with  our  shepherd ;  and  Mr.  John- 
son was  not  more  struck  with  the  decency  of  his  mean  and 
frugal  dress,  than  with  his  open,  honest  countenance,  which 
bore  strong  marks  of  health,  cheerfulness,  and  spirit. 


SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  3 

Mr.  Johnson,  who  was  on  a  journey,  and  somewhat 
fearful  from  the  appearance  of  the  sky,  that  rain  was  at 
no  great  distance,  accosted  the  shepherd  with  asking  what 
sort  of  weather  he  thought  it  would  be  on  the  morrow. 
"  It  will  be  such  weather  as  pleases  me,"  answered  the 
shepherd.  Though  the  answer  was  delivered  in  the  mild- 
est and  civilest  tone  that  could  be  imagined,  the  gentle- 
man thought  the  words  themselves  rather  rude  and  surly, 
and  asked  him  how  that  could  be.  "Because,"  replied 
the  shepherd,  "it  will  be  such  Weather  as  shall  please 
God,  and  whatever  pleases  him,  always  pleases  me." 

Mr.  Johnson,  who  delighted  in  good  men  and  good 
things,  was  very  well  satisfied  with  his  reply.  For  he 
justly  thought  that  though  a  hypocrite  may  easily  contrive 
to  appear  better  than  he  really  is,  to  a  stranger,  and  that 
no  one  should  be  too  soon  trusted  merely  for  having  a  few 
good  words  in  his  mouth ;  yet,  as  he  knew  that  "  out  of 
the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh,"  he 
always  accustomed  himself  to  judge  favorably  of  those 
who  had  a  serious  deportment  and  solid  manner  of  speak- 
ing. It  looks  as  if  it  proceeded  from  a  good  habit,  said 
he,  and  though  I  may  now  and  then  be  deceived  by  it, 
yet  it  has  not  often  happened  to  me  to  be  so.  Whereas, 
if  a  man  accosts  me  with  an  idle,  dissolute,  vulgar,  inde- 
cent, or  profane  expression,  I  have  never  been  deceived 
in  him,  but  have  generally,  on  inquiry,  found  his  character 
to  be  as  bad  as  his  language  gave  me  room  to  expect. 

He  entered  into  conversation  with  the  shepherd  in  the 
following  manner:  "Yours  is  a  troublesome  life,  honest 
friend,"  said  he.  "  To  be  sure,  sir,"  replied  the  shepherd, 
"'tis  not  a  very  lazy  life;  but  'tis  not  near  so  toilsome  as 
that  which  my  great  Master  led  for  my  sake;  and  he 
had  every  state  and  condition  of  life  at  his  choice,  and 
chose  a  hard  one,  while  I  only  submit  to  the  lot  that  is 
appointed  me."  "You  are  exposed  to  great  cold  and 
heat,"  said  the  gentleman.     "True,  sir,"  said  the  shep- 


4  SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

herd,  "but  then  I  am  not  exposed  to  great  temptations; 
and  so  throwing  one  thing  against  another,  God  is  pleased 
to  contrive  to  make  things  more  equal  than  we  poor,  igno- 
rant, short-sighted  creatures  are  apt  to  think.  David  was 
happier  when  he  kept  his  father's  sheep  on  such  a  plain 
as  this,  and  was  employed  in  singing  some  of  his  own 
psalms,  perhaps,  than  ever  he  was  when  he  became  king 
of  Israel  and  Judah.  And  I  dare  say,  we  should  never 
have  had  some  of  the  most  beautiful  texts  in  all  those 
line  psalms,  if  he  had  not  been  i  shepherd,  which  enabled 
him  to  make  so  many  fine  comparisons  and  similitudes,  as 
one  may  say,  from  country  life,  flocks  of  sheep,  hills  and 
valleys,  and  fountains  of  water." 

"  You  think,  then,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  that  a  labo- 
rious life  is  a  happy  one."  "I  do,  sir,  and  more  so  espec- 
ially as  it  exposes  a  man  to  fewer  sins.  If  king  Saul  had 
continued  a  poor  laborious  man  to  the  end  of  his  days,  he 
might  have  lived  happy  and  honest,  and  died  a  natural 
death  in  his  bed  at  last,  which  ycu  know,  sir,  was  more 
than  he  did.  But  I  speak  with  reverence  ;  fQr  it  was 
divine  Providence  overruled  all  that,  you  know,  sir,  and 
I  do  not  presume  to  make  comparisons.  Besides,  sir,  my 
employment  has  been  particularly  honored.  Moses  was 
a  shepherd  in  the  plains  of  Midian.  It  was  to  'shepherds 
keeping  their  flocks  by  night,'  that  the  angels  appeared 
in  Bethlehem,  to  tell  the  best  news,  the  gladdest  tidings, 
that  ever  were  revealed  to  poor  sinful  men;  often  and 
often  has  the  thought  warmed  my  poor  heart  in  the  cold- 
est night,  and  filled  me  with  more  joy  and  thankfulness 
than  the  best  supper  could  have  done." 

Here  the  shepherd  stopped,  for  he  began  to  feel  that 
he  had  made  too  free,  and  had  talked  too  long.  But  Mr. 
Johnson  was  so  well  pleased  with  what  he  said,  and  witli 
the  cheerful,  contented  manner  in  which  he  said  it,  that 
he  desired  him  to  go  on  freely,  for  it  was  a  pleasure  to  him 
to  meet  with  a  plain  man,  who,  without  any  kind  of  learn- 


SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  5 

ing  but  what  he  had  got  from  the  Bible,  was  able- to  talk 
so  well  on  a  subject  which  all  men,  high  and  low,  rich 
and  poor,  are  equally  concerned. 

"  Indeed,  I  am  afraid  I  make  too  bold,  sir,  for  it  better 
becomes  me  to  listen  to  such  a  gentleman  as  you  seem  to 
be,  than  to  talk  in  my  poor  way  ;  but,  as  I  was  saying, 
sir,  I  wonder  all  working  men  do  not  derive  as  great  joy 
and  delight  as  I  do,  in  thinking  how  God  has  honored 
poverty.  Oh,  sir,  what  great,  or  rich,  or  mighty  men  have 
had  such  honor  put  on  them  or  their  condition,  as  shep- 
herds, tent-makers,  fishermen,  and  carpenters  have  had?" 

"My  honest  friend,"  said  the  gentleman,  "I  perceive 
you  are  well  acquainted  with  Scripture."  "Yes,  sir,  pretty 
well,  blessed  be  God.  Through  his  mercy  I  learnt  to 
read  when  I  was  a  little  boy;  though  reading  was  not  so 
common  when  I  was  a  child,  as  I  am  told,  through  the 
goodness  of  Providence,  and  the  generosity  of  the  rich,  it 
is  likely  to  become  nowadays.  I  believe  there  is  no 
day,  for  the  last  thirty  years,  that  I  have  not  peeped  at 
my  Bible.  If  we  can't  find  time  to  read  a  chapter,  I  defy 
any  man  to  say  he  can't  find  time  to  read  a  verse  ;  and  a 
single  text,  sir,  well  followed,  and  put  in  practice  every 
day,  would  make  no  bad  figure  at  the  year's  end;  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  texts,  without  the  loss  of  a  mo- 
ment's time,  would  make  a  pretty  stock,  a  little  golden 
treasury,  as  one  may  say,  from  new-year's  day  to  new- 
year's  day;  and  if  children  were  brought  up  to  it,  they 
would  come  to  look  for  their  texts  as  naturally  as  they  do 
for  their  breakfast.  No  laboring  man,  'tis  true,  has  so 
much  leisure  as  a  shepherd ;  for  while  the  flock  is  feeding, 
I  am  obliged  to  be  still,  and  at  such  times  I  can  now  and 
then  tap  a  shoe  for  my  children  or  myself,  which  is  a 
great  saving  to  us ;  and  while  I  am  doing  that,  I  repeat  a 
bit  of  a  chapter,  which  makes  the  time  pass  pleasantly 
in  this  wild,  solitary  place.  T  can  say  the  best  part  of 
the  Bible  by  heart :   I  believe  I  should  not  say  the  best 

4* 


6  SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

part,  for  every  part  is  good  ;  but  I  mean  the  greatest  part. 
I  have  led  but  a  lonely  life,  and  have  often  had  but  little 
to  eat ;  but  my  Bible  has  been  meat,  drink,  and  company 
to  me,  as  I  may  say;  and  when  want  and  trouble  have 
come  upon  me,  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done 
indeed,  sir,  if  I  had  not  had  the  promises  of  this  book  for 
my  stay  arid  support." 

"  You  have  had  great  difficulties,  then,"  said  Mr.  John- 
son. "Why,  as  to  that,  sir,  not  more  than  neighbors'  fare ; 
I  have  but  little  cause  to  complain,  and  much  to  be  thank- 
ful; but  I  have  had  some  struggles,  as  I  will  leave  you 
to  judge.  I  have  a  wife  and  eight  children,  whom  I  bred 
up  in  that  little  cottage  which  you  see  under  the  hill 
about  half  a  mile  off."  "What,  that  with  the  smoke 
coming  out  of  the  chimney?"  said  the  gentleman.  "Oh 
no,  sir,"  replied  the  shepherd,  smiling,  "  we  have  seldom 
smoke  in  the  evening,  for  we  have  little  to  cook,  and  firing 
is  very  dear  in  these  parts.  'Tis  that  cottage  which  you 
see  on  the  left  hand  of  the  church,  near  that  little  tuft  of 
hawthorns."  "  What,  that  hovel  with  only  one  room  above 
and  below,  with  scarcely  any  chimney?  How  is  it  possi- 
ble you  can  live  there  with  such  a  family?"  "Oh,  it  is 
very  possible,  and  very  certain  too,"  cried  the  shepherd. 
"  How  many  better  men  have  been  worse  lodged.  How 
many  good  Christians  have  perished  in  prisons  and  dun- 
geons, in  comparison  of  which  my  cottage  is  a  palace. 
The  house  is  very  well,  sir,  and  if  the  rain  did  not  some- 
times beat  down  upon  us  through  the  thatch  when  we 
are  abed,  I  should  not  desire  a  better;  for  I  have  health, 
peace,  and  liberty,  and  no  man  maketh  me  afraid." 

"  Well,  I  will  certainly  call  upon  you  before  it  be  long; 
but  how  can  you  contrive  to  lodge  so  many  children?" 
"We  do  the  best  we  can,  sir.  My  poor  wife  is  a  very 
sickly  woman,  or  we  should  always  have  done  tolerably 
well.  There  are  no  gentry  in  the  parish,  so  that  she  has 
not  met  with  any  great  assistance  in  her  sickness,     The 


SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  7 

good  curate  of  the  parish,  who  lives  in  that  pretty  par- 
sonage in  the  valley,  is  very  willing,  but  not  very  able  to 
assist  us  on  these  trying  occasions,  for  he  has  little  enough 
for  himself,  and  a  large  family  into  the  bargain.  Yet  he 
does  what  he  can,  and  more  than  many  rich  men  do,  and 
more  than  he  can  well  afford.  Besides  that,  his  prayers 
and  good  advice  we  are  always  sure  of,  and  we  are  truly 
thankful  for  that;  for  a  man  must  give,  you  know,  sir, 
according  to  what  he  hath,  and  not  according  to  what  he 
hath  not." 

"Are  you  in  any  distress  at  present?"  said  Mr.  John- 
son. "No,  sir,  thank  God,"  replied  the  shepherd.  "I  get 
my  shilling  a  day,  and  most  of  my  children  will  soon  be 
able  to  earn  something ;  for  we  have  only  three  under  five 
years  old.  "Only!"  said  the  gentleman;  "  that  is  a  heavy 
burden."  "Not  at  all;  God  fits  the  back  to  it.  Though 
my  wife  is  not  able  to  do  any  out-of-door  work,  yet  she 
breeds  up  her  children  to  such  habits  of  industry,  that  our 
little  maids,  before  they  are  six  years  old,  can  first  get  a 
half-penny,  and  then  a  penny  a  day,  by  knitting.  The 
boys  who  are  too  littl  to  do  hard  work,  get  a  trifle  by 
keeping  the  birds  off  the  corn  ;  for  this  the  farmers  will 
give  them  a  penny  or  two  pence,  and  now  and  then  a  bit 
of  bread  and  cheese  into  the  bargain.  When  the  season 
of  crow-keeping  is  over,  then  they  glean,  or  pick  stones; 
any  thing  is  better  than  idleness,  sir ;  and  if  they  did  not 
get  a  farthing  by  it,  I  would  make  them  do  it  just  the 
same,  for  the  sake  of  giving  them  early  habits  of  labor. 

"  So  you  see,  sir,  I  am  not  so  badly  off  as  many  are : 
nay,  if  it  were  not  that  it  cost  me  so  much  in  'potecary's 
stuff  for  my  poor  wife,  I  should  reckon  myself  well  of; 
nay,  I  do  reckon  myself  well  off;  for,  blessed  be  God,  he 
has  granted  her  life  to  my  prayers,  and  T  would  work 
myself  to  a  'natomy,  and  live  on  one  meal  a  day,  to  add 
one  comfort  to  her  valuable  life.  Indeed,  I  have  often 
done  the  last,  and  thought  it  no  great  matter  neither," 


8  SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

While  they  were  in  this  part  of  the  discourse,  a  fine, 
plump,  cherry-cheek  little  girl  ran  up,  out  of  breath,  with 
a  smile  on  her  young,  happy  face,  and  without  taking  any 
notice  of  the  gentleman,  cried  out  with  great  joy,  "  Look 
here,  father,  only  see  how  much  I  have  got  to-day !"  Mr. 
Johnson  was  much  struck  with  her  simplicity,  but  puz- 
zled to  know  what  was  the  occasion  of  this  great  joy. 
On  looking  at  her,  he  perceived  a  small  quantity  of  coarse 
wool,  some  of  which  had  found  its  way  through  the  holes 
of  her  clean,  but  scanty  and  ragged,  woolen  apron.  The 
father  said,  "This  has  been  a  successful  day  indeed, 
Molly;  but  don't  you  see  the  gentleman?"  Molly  now 
made  a  low  courtesy  down  to  the  very  ground ;  while  Mr. 
Johnson  inquired  into  the  cause  of  the  mutual  satisfac- 
tion which  both  father  and  daughter  had  expressed  at 
the  unusual  good  fortune  of  the  day. 

"Sir,"  said  the  shepherd,  "poverty  is  a  great  sharp- 
ener of  the  wits.  My  wife  and  I  cannot  endure  to  see 
our  children,  poor  as  they  are,  without  shoes  and  stock- 
ings, not  only  on  account  of  the  pinching  cold,  which 
cramps  their  poor  little  limbs,  but  because  it  degrades 
and  debases  them;  and  poor 'people  who  have  but  little 
regard  to  appearance,  will  seldom  be  found  to  have  any 
great  regard  to  honesty  and  goodness.  I  do  n't  say  this  is 
always  the  case,  but  I  am  sure  it  is  so  too  often.  Now, 
shoes  and  stockings  being  very  dear,  we  never  could  afford 
to  get  them  without  a  little  contrivance.  I  must  show 
you  how  I  manage  about  the  shoes,  when  you  condescend 
to  call  at  our  cottage,  sir:  as  to  stockings,  this  is  one  way 
we  take  to  help  to  get  them.  My  young  ones,  who  are 
too  little  to  do  much  work,  sometimes  wander  at  odd 
hours  over  the  hills  for  the  chance  of  finding  what  little 
wool  the  sheep  may  drop  when  they  rub  themselves,  as 
they  are   apt  to  do,  against  the  bushes.*      These  scat- 

This  piece  of  frugal  industry  is  a  real  fact ;  as  is  the  character 
of  the  shepherd,  and  his  uncommon  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures, 


SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  <J 

tered  bits  of  wool  the  children  pick  up  out  of  the  bram- 
bles, which  I  see  have  torn  sad  holes  in  Molly's-  apron  to- 
day; they  carry  this  wool  home,  and  when  they  have 
got  a  pretty  parcel  together,  their  mother  cards  it;  for 
she  can  sit  and  card  in  the  chimney-corner,  when  she  is 
not  able  to  wash  or  work  about  house.  The  biggest  girl 
then  spins  it.  It  does  very  well  for  us  without  dyeing, 
for  poor  people  must  not  stand  for  the  color  of  their 
stockings.  After  this,  our  little  boys  knit  it  for  them- 
selves, while  they  are  employed  in  keeping  cows  in  the 
fields,  and  after  they  get  home  at  night.  As  for  the  knit- 
ting the  girls  and  their  mother  do,  that  is  chiefly  for  sale, 
which  helps  to  pay  our  rent." 

Mr.  Johnson  lifted  up  his  eyes  in  silent  astonishment 
at  the  shifts  which  honest  poverty  can  make,  rather  than 
beg  or  steal;  and  was  surprised  to  think  how  many  ways 
of  subsisting  there  are,  which  those  who  live  at  their 
ease  little  suspect.  He  secretly  resolved  to  be  more  at- 
tentive to  his  own  petty  expenses  than  he  had  hitherto 
been ;  and  to  be  more  watchful  that  nothing  was  wasted 
in  his  family. 

But  to  return  to  the  shepherd.  Mr.  Johnson  told  him 
that  as  he  must  needs  be  at  his  friend's  house,  who  lived 
many  miles  off,  that  night,  he  could  not,  as  he  wished  to 
do,  make  a  visit  to  his  cottage  at  present.  "But  I  will 
certainly  do  it,"  said  he,  "on  my  return,  for  I  long  to  see 
your  wife  and  her  nice  little  family,  and  to  be  an  eye- 
witness of  her  neatness  and  good  management."  The 
poor  man's  tears  started  into  his  eyes  on  hearing  the  com- 
mendation bestowed  on  his  wife;  and  wiping  them  off 
with  the  sleeve  of  his  coat,  for  he  was  not  worth  a  hand- 
kerchief in  the  world,  he  said,  "Oh,  sir,  you  just  now, 
I  am  afraid,  called  me  an  humble  man,  but  indeed  I  am  a 
very  proud  one."  "Proud!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Johnson,"I 
hope  not ;  pride  is  a  great  sin,  and  as  the  poor  are  liable 
to  it  as  well  as  the  rich,  so  good  a  man  as  you  seem  to  be 

vol.  i.  6* 


10  SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

ought  to  guard  against  it."  "  Sir,"  said  he,  "  you  are  right, 
but  I  am  not  proud  of  myself;  God  knows  JL  have  nothing 
to  be  proud  of.  I  am  a  poor  sinner ;  but  indeed,  sir,  I  am 
proud  of  my  wife;  she  is  not  only  the  most  tidy,  notable 
woman  on  the  plain,  but  she  is  the  kindest  wife  and 
mother,  and  the  most  contented,  thankful  Christian  that 
I  know.  Last  year  I  thought  I  should  have  lost  her 
in  a  violent  fit  of  the  rheumatism,  caught  by  going  to 
work  too  soon  after  her  lying-in,  I  fear;  for  'tis  but  a 
bleak,  coldish  place,  as  you  may  see,  sir,  in  winter ;  and 
sometimes  the  snow  lies  so  long  under  the  hill,  that  I  can 
hardly  make  myself  a  path  to  get  out  and  buy  a  few  nec- 
essaries in  the  next  village  ;  and  we  are  afraid  to  send 
out  the  children,  for  fear  they  would  be  lost  when  the 
snow  is  deep.  So,  as  I  was  saying,  the  poor  soul  was 
very  bad  indeed,  and  for  several  weeks,  lost  the  use  of 
all  her  limbs  except  her  hands ;  a  merciful  Providence 
spared  her  the  use  of  these,  so  that  when  she  could  not 
turn  in  her  bed,  she  could  contrive  to  patch  a  rag  or  two 
for  her  family.  She  was  always  saying,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  great  goodness  of  God,  she  might  have  had  her 
hands  lame  as  well  as  her  feet,  or  the  palsy  instead  of 
the  rheumatism,  and  then  she  could  have  done  nothing — 
but  nobody  had  so  many  mercies  as  she  had. 

"  I  will  not  tell  you  what  we  suffered  during  the  bit- 
ter weather,  sir ;  but  my  wife's  faith  and  patience  during 
that  trying  time  were  as  good  a  lesson  to  me  as  any  ser- 
mon I  could  hear;  and  yet  Mr.  Jenkins  gave  us  very 
comfortable  ones  too,  that  helped  to  keep  up  my  spirits. 

"  One  Sunday  afternoon  when  my  wife  was  at  the 
worst,  as  I  was  coming  out  of  church — for  I  went  one 
part  of  the  day,  and  my  eldest  daughter  the  other,  so  my 
poor  wife  was  never  left  alone — as  I  was  coming  out  of 
church,  I  say,  Mr.  Jenkins  the  minister  called  out  to  me, 
and  asked  me  how  my  wife  did,  saying  he  had  been  kept 
from  coming  to  see  her  by  the  deep  fall  of  snow ;  and 


SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  •    11 

indeed  from  the  parsonage-house  to  my  hovel  it  was  quite 
impassable.  I  gave  him  all  the  particulars  he  asked,  and 
I  am  afraid  a  good  many  more,  for  my  heart  was  quite 
full.  He  kindly  gave  me  a  shilling,  and  said  he  would 
certainly  try  to  pick  out  his  way,  and  come  and  see  her 
Li  a  day  or  two. 

"  While  he  was  talking  to  me,  a  plain,  farmer-looking 
gentleman  in  boots,  who  stood  by,  listened  to  all  I  said, 
but  seemed  to  take  no  notice.  It  was  Mr.  Jenkins'  wife's 
father,  who  was  come  to  pass  the  Christmas-holidays  at 
the  parsonage-house.  I  had  always  heard  him  spoken  of 
as  a  plain  frugal  man,  who  lived  close  himself,  but  was 
remarked  to  give  away  more  than  any  of  his  show-a-way 
neighbors. 

"  Well,  I  went  home  with  great  spirits  at  this  season- 
able and  unexpected  supply ;  for  we  had  tapped  our  last 
sixpence,  and  there  was  little  work  to  be  had,  on  account 
of  the  weather.  I  told  my  wife  I  had  not  come  back 
empty-handed.  No,  I  dare  say  not,  says  she,  you  have 
been  serving  a  Master  '  who  filleth  the  hungry  with  good 
things,  though  he  sendeth  the  rich  empty  away.'  True, 
Mary,  said  I,  we  seldom  fail  to  get  good  spiritual  food 
from  Mr.  Jenkins,  but  to-day  he  has  kindly  supplied  our 
bodily  wants.  She  was  more  thankful  when  I  showed 
her  the  shilling,  than  I  dare  say  some  of  your  great  people 
are  when  they  get  a  hundred  pounds." 

Mr.  Johnson's  heart  smote  him,  when  he  heard  such 
a  value  set  upon  a  shilling :  surely,  said  he  to  himself,  I 
will  never  waste  another;  but  he  said  nothing  to  the 
shepherd,  who  thus  pursued  his  story. 

"  Next  morning,  before  I  went  out,  I  sent  a  part  of  the 
money  to  buy  a  little  ale  and  brown  sugar,  to  put  into 
her  water-gruel ;  which  you  know,  sir,  made  it  nice  and 
nourishing.  I  went  out  to  cleave  wood  in  a  farm-yard> 
for  there  was  no  standing  out  on  the  plain,  after  such  a 
snow  as  had  fallen  in  the  night.     T  went  with  a  lighter 

ST 


12  SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

heart  than  usual,  because  I  had  left  my  poor  wife  a  little 
better,  and  comfortably  supplied  for  this  day,  and  I  now 
resolved  more  than  ever  to  trust  God  for  the  supplies  of 
the  next.  When  I  came  back  at  night,  my  wife  fell  a 
crying  as  soon  as  she  saw  me.  This,  I  own,  1  thought 
but  a  bad  return  for  the  blessings  she  had  so  lately  re- 
ceived, and  so  I  told  her.  0,  said  she,  it  is  too  much,  we 
are  too  rich ;  I  am  now  frightened,  not  lest  we  should 
have  no  portion  in  this  world,  but  for  fear  we  should 
have  our  whole  portion  in  it.  Look  here,  John !  So  say- 
ing she  uncovered  the  bed  whereon  she  lay,  and  showed 
me  two  warm,  thick,  new  blankets.  I  could  not  believe 
my  own  eyes,  sir,  because  when  I  went  out  in  the  morn- 
ing I  had  left  her  with  no  other  covering  than  our  little 
old  blue  rug.  I  was  still  more  amazed  when  she  put 
half  a  crown  into  my  hand,  telling  me  she  had  had  a  visit 
from  Mr.  Jenkins  and  Mr.  Jones,  the  latter  of  whom  had 
bestowed  all  these  good  things  upon  us.  Thus,  sir,  have 
our  lives  been  crowned  with  mercies.  My  wife  got  about 
again,  and  I  do  believe,  under  Providence,  it  was  owing 
to  these  comforts ;  for  the  rheumatism,  sir,  without  blank- 
ets by  night  and  flannel  by  day,  is  but  a  baddish  job, 
especially  to  people  who  have  but  little  or  no  fire.  She 
will  always  be  a  weakly  body;  but,  thank  God,  her  soul 
prospers  and  is  in  health.  But  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir, 
for  talking  on  at  this  rate."  "Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  said 
Mr.  Johnson ;  "  I  am  much  pleased  with  your  story ;  you 
shall  certainly  see  me  in  a  few  days.  Good-night."  So 
saying,  he  slipped  a  crown  into  his  hand  and  rode  off. 
"Surely,"  said  the  shepherd,  "^goodness  and  mercy  have 
followed  me  all  the  days  of  my  life,'"  as  he  gave  the 
money  to  his  wife  when  he  got  home  at  night. 

As  to  Mr.  Johnson,  he  found  abundant  matter  for  his 
thoughts  during  the  rest  of  his  journey.  On  the  whole 
he  was  more  disposed  to  envy  than  to  pity  the  shepherd. 
"I  have  seldom  seen,"  said  he,  "so  happy  a  man.     It  is  a 


SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  13 

sort  of  happiness  which  the  world  could  not  give,  and 
which  I  plainly  see  it  has  not  heen  able  to  take  away. 
This  must  be  the  true  spirit  of  religion.  I  see  more  and 
more,  that  true  goodness  is  not  merely  a  thing  of  words 
and  opinions,  but  a  living  principle  brought  into  every 
common  action  of  a  man's  life.  What  else  could  have 
supported  this  poor  couple  under  every  bitter  trial  of  want 
and  sickness?  No,  my  honest  shepherd,  I  do  not  pity, 
6ut  I  respect  and  even  honor  thee ;  and  I  will  visit  thy 
poor  hovel  on  my  return  to  Salisbury,  with  as  much 
pleasure  as  I  am  now  going  to  the  house  of  my  friend." 

If  Mr.  Johnson  keeps  his  word  in  sending  me  the 
account  of  his  visit  to  the  shepherd's  cottage,  I  shall  be 
very  glad  to  entertain  my  readers  with  it. 


PART    II. 

I  am  willing  to  hope  that  my  readers  will  not  be  sorry 
to  hear  some  further  particulars  of  their  old  acquaintance, 
the  shepherd  of  Salisbury  plain.  They  will  call  to  mind, 
that  at  the  end  of  the  first  part,  he  was  returning  home, 
full  of  gratitude  for  the  favors  he  had  received  from  Mr. 
Johnson,  whom  we  left  pursuing  his  journey,  after  having 
promised  to  make  a  visit  to  the  shepherd's  cottage. 

Mr.  Johnson,  after  having  passed  some  time  with  his 
friend,  set  out  on  his  return  to  Salisbury,  and  on  the  Sat- 
urday evening  reached  a  very  small  inn,  a  mile  or  two 
distant  from  the  shepherd's  village ;  for  he  never  travelled 
on  a  Sunday.  He  went  next  morning  to  the  church  near- 
est the  house  where  he  passed  the  night ;  and  after  tak- 
ing such  refreshment  as  he  could  get  at  that  house,  he 
walked  on  to  find  out  the  shepherd's  cottage.  His  reason 
for  visiting  him  on  Sunday  was  chiefly  because  he  sup- 
posed it  to  be  the  only  day  which  the  shepherd's  employ- 
ment allowed  him  to  pass  at  home  with  his  family ;   and 

Eleg.  Nar.  5 


14  SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

as  Mr.  Johnson  had  been  struck  with  his  talk,  he  thought 
it  would  be  neither  unpleasant  nor  unprofitable  to  observe 
how  a  man  who  carried  such  an  appearance  of  piety, 
spent  his  Sunday ;  for,  though  he  was  so  low  in  the  world, 
this  gentleman  was  not  above  entering  very  closely  into 
his  character,  of  which  he  thought  he  should  be  able  to 
form  a  better  judgment,  by  seeing  whether  his  practice 
at  home  kept  pace  with  his  profession  abroad.  For  it  is 
not  so  much  by  observing  how  people  talk,  as  how  they 
live,  that  we  ought  to  judge  of  their  characters, 

After  a  pleasant  walk,  Mr.  Johnson  got  within  sight 
of  the  cottage,  to  which  he  was  directed  by  the  clump  of 
hawthorns  and  the  broken  chimney.  He  wished  to  take 
the  family  by  surprise  :  and  walking  gently  up  to  th6 
house,  he  stood  a  while  to  listen.  The  door  being  hali 
open,  he  saw  the  shepherd — who  looked  so  respectable 
in  his  Sunday  coat,  that  he  should  hardly  have  known 
him — his  wife,  and  their  numerous  family  drawing  round 
their  little  table,  which  was  covered  with  a  clean,  though 
very  coarse  cloth.  There  stood  on  it  a  large  dish  of  po- 
tatoes, a  brown  pitcher,  and  a  piece  of  coarse  loaf.  The 
wife  and  children  stood  in  silent  attention,  while  the  shep- 
herd, with  uplifted  hands  and  eyes,  devoutly  begged  the 
blessing  of  Heaven  on  their  homely  fare.  Mr.  Johnson 
could  not  help  sighing,  to  reflect  that  he  had  sometimes 
seen  better  dinners  eaten  with  less  appearance  of  thank- 
fulness. 

The  shepherd  and  his  wife  then  sat  down  with  great 
seeming  cheerfulness,  but  the  children  stood  ;  and  while 
the  mother  was  helping  them,  little  fresh-colored  Molly, 
who  had  picked  the  wool  from  the  bushes  with  so  much 
delight,  cried  out,  "  Father,  I  wish  I  was  big  enough  to 
say  grace  ;  I  am  sure  I  should  say  it  very  heartily  to-day, 
for  I  was  thinking,  what  must  poor  people  do,  who  have 
no  salt  to  their  potatoes  ;  and  do  but  look,  our  dish  is 
quite  full."     «  That  is  the  true  way  of  thinking,  Molly,'' 


SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  15 

said  the  father;  "in  whatever  concerns  bodily  wants  and 
bodily  comforts,  it  is  our  duty  to  compare  our  own  lot  with 
the  lot  of  those  who  are  worse  off,  and  this  will  keep  us 
thankful.  On  the  other  hand,  whenever  we  are  tempted 
to  set  up  our  own  wisdom  or  goodness,  we  must  compare 
ourselves  with  those  who  are  wiser  and  better,  and  that 
will  keep  us  humble."  Molly  wc*>  now  so  hungry,  and 
found  the  potatoes  so  good,  that  she  had  no  time  to  make 
any  more  remarks;  but  was  devouring  her  dinner  very 
heartily,  when  the  barking  of  the  great  dog  drew  her 
attention  from  her  trencher  to  the  door,  and  spying  the 
stranger,  she  cried  out,  "Look,  father,  see  here;  is  not 
that  the  good  gentleman?"  Mr.  Johnson,  finding  himself 
discovered,  immediately  walked  in,  and  was  heartily  wel- 
comed by  the  honest  shepherd,  who  told  his  wife  that  this 
was  the  gentleman  to  whom  they  were  so  much  obliged. 
The  good  woman  began,  as  some  very  neat  people  are 
rather  too  apt  to  do,  with  making  many  apologies,  that 
her  house  was  not  cleaner,  and  that  things  were  not  in 
fitter  order  to  receive  such  a  gentleman.  Mr.  Johnson, 
however,  on  looking  round,  could  discover  nothing  but  tho 
most  perfect  neatness.  The  trenchers  on  which  they 
were  eating  were  almost  as  white  as  their  linen;  and 
notwithstanding  the  number  and  smallness  of  the  chil- 
dren, there  was  not  the  least  appearance  of  dirt  or  litter. 
The  furniture  was  very  simple  and  poor,  hardly  indeed 
amounting  to  bare  necessaries.  It  consisted  of  four  brown 
wooden  chairs,  which  by  constant  rubbing,  were  become 
as  bright  as  a  looking-glass ;  an  iron  pot  and  kettle ;  a 
poor  old  grate,  which  scarcely  held  a  handful  of  coal,  and 
out  of  which  the  little  fire  that  had  been  in  it  appeared 
to  have  been  taken  as  soon  as  it  had  answered  the  end 
for  which  it  had  been  lighted,  that  of  boiling  their  pota- 
toes. Over  the  chimney  stood  an  old-fashioned  broad 
bright  candlestick,  and  a  still  brighter  spit ;  it  was  pretty 
clear  that  this  last  was  kept  rather  for  ornament  than 


16  SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

use.  An  old  carved  elbow-chair,  and  a  chest  of  the  same 
date  which  stood  in  the  corner,  were  considered  as  the 
most  valuable  part  of  the  shepherd's  goods,  having  been 
in  his  family  for  three  generations.  But  all  these  were 
lightly  esteemed  by  him,  in  comparison  of  another  pos- 
session, which,  added  to  the  above,  made  up  the  whole 
of  what  he  had  inherited  from  his  father;  and  which  last 
he  would  not  have  parted  with,  if  no  other  could  have 
been  had,  for  a  king's  ransom :  this  was  a  large  old  Bible, 
which  lay  on  the  window-seat,  neatly  covered  with  brown 
cloth,  variously  patched.  This  sacred  book  was  most  rev- 
erently preserved  from  dog's-ears,  dirt,  and  every  other 
injury,  but  such  as  time  and  much  use  had  made  it  suf- 
fer in  spite  of  care.  On  the  clean  white  Avails  were  pasted 
a  Hymn  on  the  Crucifixion  of  our  Saviour,  a  print  of  the 
Prodigal  Son,  the  Shepherd's  Hymn,  a  New  History  of  a 
true  Book,  and  Patient  Joe. 

After  the  first  salutations  were  over,  Mr.  Johnson  said 
that  if  they  would  go  on  quietly  with  their  dinner,  he 
would  sit  down.  Though  a  good  deal  ashamed,  they 
thought  it  more  respectful  to  obey  the  gentleman,  who, 
having  cast  his  eye  on  their  slender  provisions,  gently  re- 
buked the  shepherd  for  not  having  indulged  himself,  as  it 
was  Sunday,  with  a  morsel  of  bacon  to  relish  his  potatoes. 
The  shepherd  said  nothing,  but  poor  Mary  colored  and 
hung  down  her  head,  saying,  "Indeed,  sir,  it  is  not  my 
fault ;  I  did  beg  my  husband  to  allow  himself  a  bit  of  meat 
to-day  out  of  your  honor's  bounty;  but  he  was  too  good 
to  do  it,  and  it  is  all  for  my  sake."  The  shepherd  seemed 
unwilling  to  come  to  an  explanation,  but  Mr.  Johnson 
desired  Mary  to  go  on.  So  she  continued,  "You  must 
know,  sir,  that  both  of  us,  next  to  a  sin,  dread  a  debt,  and 
indeed,  in  some  cases  a  debt  is  a  sin;  but  with  all  our 
care  and  pains  we  have  never  been  able  quite  to  pay  off 
the  doctor's  bill  for  that  bad  fit  of  rheumatism  which  I 
had  last  winter.     Now,  when  you  were  pleased  to  give 


SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  17 

my  husband  that  kind  present  the  other  day,  I  heartily 
desired  him  to  buy  a  bit  of  meat  for  Sunday,  as  I  said 
before,  that  he  might  have  a  little  refreshment  out  of 
your  kindness.  But  he  answered,  '  Mary,  it  is  never  out 
of  my  mind  long  together,  that  we  still  owe  a  few  shil- 
lings to  the  doctor,'  and  thank  God,  it  was  all  we  did  owe 
in  the  world.  'Now,  if  I  carry  him  this  money  directly, 
it  will  not  only  show  him  our  honesty  and  our  good  will, 
but  it  will  be  an  encouragement  to  him  to  come  to  you 
another  time,  in  case  you  should  be  taken  once  more  in 
such  a  bad  fit;  for  I  must  .own,'  added  my  poor  husband, 
'  that  the  thought  of  your  being  so  terribly  ill,  without  any 
help,  is  the  only  misfortune  that  I  want  courage  to  face.'" 
Here  the  grateful  woman's  tears  ran  down  so  fast  that 
she  could  not  go  on.  She  wiped  them  with  the  corner  of 
her  apron,  and  humbly  begged  pardon  for  making  so  free. 
"  Indeed,  sir,"  said  the  shepherd,  "  though  my  wife  is  full 
as  unwilling  to  be  in  debt  as  myself,  yet  I  could  hardly 
prevail  on  her  to  consent  to  my  paying  this  money  just 
then,  because,  she  said,  it  was  hard  I  should  not  have  a 
taste  of  the  gentleman's  bounty  myself.  But  for  once, 
sir,  I  would  have  my  own  way.  For  you  must  know,  as 
I  pass  the  best  part  of  my  time  alone,  tending  my  sheep, 
'tis  a  great  point  with  me,  sir,  to  get  comfortable  matter 
for  my  own  thoughts  ;  so  that  'tis  rather  self-interest  in  me, 
to  allow  myself  no  pleasures  and  no  practices  that  wont 
bear  thinking  on  over  and  over.  For  when  one  is  a  good 
deal  alone,  you  know,  sir,  all  one's  bad  deeds  do  so  rush 
in  upon  one,  as  I  may  say,  and  so  torment  one,  that  there 
is  no  true  comfort  to  be  had,  but  in  keeping  clear  of  wrong 
doings  and  false  pleasures;  and  that  I  suppose  may  be 
one  reason  why  so  many  folks  hate  to  stay  a  bit  by  them- 
selves. But,  as  I  was  saying,  when  I  came  to  think  the 
matter  over  on  the  hill  yonder,  said  I  to  myself,  a  good 
dinner  is  a  good  thing,  I  grant,  and  yet  it  will  be  but 
cold  comfort  to  me  a  week  after,  to  be  able  to  say — to  be 

5* 


18  SHEPHERD  OF   SALiSBUK.iT   PLAIJS. 

sure  I  had  a  nice  shoulder  of  mutton  last  Sunday  for  din- 
ner, thanks  to  the  good  gentleman,  but  then  I  am  in 
deDt — I  had  a  rare  dinner,  that's  certain;  but  the  pleas- 
ure of  that  has  long  been  over,  and  the  debt  still  re- 
mains— I  have  spent  the  crown,  and  now  if  my  poor  wife 
should  be  taken  in  one  of  those  fits  again,  die  she  must, 
unless  God  work  a  miracle  to  prevent  it,  for  I  can  get  no 
help  for  her.  This  thought  settled  all ;  and  I  set  off  di- 
rectly and  paid  the  crown  to  the  doctor  with  as  much 
cheerfulness  as  I  could  have  felt  on  sitting  down  to  the 
fattest  shoulder  of  mutton  that  was  ever  roasted.  And  if 
I  was  contented  at  the  time,  think  how  much  more  happy 
I  have  been  at  the  remembrance.  0  sir,  there  are  no 
pleasures  worth  the  name,  but  such  as  bring  no  plague 
or  penitence  after  them."  Mr.  Johnson  was  satisfied  with 
the  shepherd's  reasons,  and  agreed,  that  though  a  good 
dinner  was  not  to  be  despised,  yet  it  was  not  worthy  to 
be  compared  with  a  "  contented  mind,  which,"  as  the  prov- 
erb truly  says,  "is  a  continual  feast."  "But  come,"  said 
the  good  gentleman,  "what  have  we  got  in  this  brown 
mug?"  "As  good  water,"  said  the  shepherd,  "as  any  in 
the  king's  dominions.  I  have  heard  of  countries  beyond 
sea,  in  which  there  is  no  wholesome  water ;  nay,  I  have 
been  myself  in  a  great  town  not  far  off,  where  they  are 
obliged  to  buy  all  the  water  they  get,  while  a  good  Prov- 
idence sends  to  my  very  door  a  spring  as  clear  and  fine 
as  Jacob's  well.  When  I  am  tempted  to  repine  that  I 
have  often  no  other  drink,  I  call  to  mind  that  it  was  noth- 
ing better  than  a  cup  of  cold  water  which  the  woman  of 
Samaria  drew  for  the  greatest  guest  that  ever  visited  this 
world." 

"Very  well,"  replied  Mr.  Johnson;  "but  as  your  hon- 
esty has  made  you  prefer  a  "poor  meal  to  being  in  debt,  I 
will  at  least  send  and  get  something  for  you  to  drink.  I 
saw  a  little  public-house  just  by  the  church,  as  I  came  along. 
Let  that  little  rosy-faced  fellow  fetch  a  mug  of  beer." 


SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  19 

So  saying,  he  looked  full  at  the  boy,  who  did  not  offer 
to  stir;  hut  cast  an  eye  at  his  father,  to  know  what  he 
was  to  do.  "Sir,"  said  the  shepherd,  "I  hope  we  shall 
not  appear  ungrateful,  if  we  seem  to  refuse  your  favor; 
my  little  hoy  would,  I  am  sure,  fly  to  serve  you  on  any 
other  occasion.  But,  good  sir,  it  is  Sunday,  and  should 
any  of  my  family  he  seen  at  a  public-house  on  a  Sabbath- 
day,  it  would  be  a  much  greater  grief  to  me  than  to  drink 
water  all  my  life.  I  am  often  talking  against  these  do- 
ings to  others  ;  and  if  I  should  say  one  thing  and  do  anoth- 
er, you  can't  think  what  an  advantage  it  would  give  many 
of  my  neighbors  over  me,  who  would  be  glad  enough  to 
report,  that  they  caught  the  shepherd's  son  at  the  ale- 
house, without  explaining  how  it  happened.  Christians, 
you  know,  sir,  must  be  doubly  watchful,  or  they  will  not 
only  bring  disgrace  on  themselves,  but,  what  is  much 
worse,  on  that  holy  name  by  which  they  are  called, " 

"Are  you  not  a  little  too  cautious,  my  honest  friend?" 
said  Mr.  Johnson.  "  I  humbly  ask  your  pardon,  sir,"  re- 
plied the  shepherd,  "if  I  think  that  impossible.  In  my 
poor  notion,  I  no  more  understand  how  a  man  can  be  too 
cautious,  than  how  he  can  be  too  strong,  or  too  healthy." 

"You  are  right,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  "as  a  gen- 
eral principle ;» but  this  struck  me  as  a  very  small  thing." 
"  Sir,"  said  the  shepherd,  "  I  am  afraid  you  will  think  me 
very  bold,  but  you  encourage  me  to  speak  out."  "'Tis 
what  I  wish,"  said  the  gentleman.  "  Then,  sir,"  resumed 
the  shepherd,  "I  doubt  if,  where  there  is  a  temptation  to 
do  wrong,  any  thing  can  be  called  small ;  that  is,  in  short, 
if  there  is  any  such  thing  as  a  small  wilful  sin.  A  poor 
man,  like  me,  is  seldom  called  out  to  do  great  things,  so 
that  it  is  not  by  a  few  striking  deeds  his  character  can  be 
judged  by  his  neighbors,  but  by  the  little  round  of  daily 
customs  he  allows  himself  in."  While  they  were  thus 
talking,  the  children,  who  had  stood  very  quietly  behind, 
and  had  not  stirred  a  foot,  now  began  to  scamper  about 


20  SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

all  at  once,  and  in  a  moment  ran  to  the  window-seat  to 
pick  up  their  little  old  hats.  Mr.  Johnson  looked  sur- 
prised at  this  disturbance;  the  shepherd  asked  his  par- 
don, telling  him  it  was  the  sound  of  the  church  bell 
which  had  been  the  cause  of  their  rudeness;  for  their 
mother  had  brought  them  up  with  such  a  fear  of  being 
too  late  for  church,  that  it  was  but  who  could  catch  the 
first  stroke  of  the  bell,  and  be  first  ready.  He  had  always 
taught  them  to  think  that  nothing  was  more  indecent  than 
to  get  into  church  after  it  was  begun ;  for  as  the  service 
opened  with  an  exhortation  to  repentance,  and  a  confes- 
sion of  sin,  it  looked  very  presumptuous  not  to  be  ready 
to  join  in  it ;  it  looked  as  if  people  did  not  feel  themselves 
to  be  sinners.  And  though  such  as  lived  at  a  great  dis- 
tance might  plead  difference  of  clocks  as  an  excuse,  yet 
those  who  lived  within  the  sound  of  the  bell  could  pre- 
tend neither  ignorance  nor  mistake. 

Mary  and  her  children  set  forward.  Mr.  Johnson  and 
the  shepherd  followed,  taking  care  to  talk  the  whole  way 
on  such  subjects  as  might  fit  them  for  the  solemn  duties 
of  the  place  to  which  they  were  going.  "I  have  often 
been  sorry  to  observe,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  "that  many, 
who  are  reckoned  decent,  good  kind  of  people,  and  who 
would  on  no  account  neglect  going  to  church,  yet  seem  to 
care  but  little  in  what  frame  or  temper  of  mind  they  go 
thither.  They  will  talk  of  their  worldly  concerns  till  they 
get  within  the  door,  and  then  take  them  up  again  the 
very  minute  the  sermon  is  over,  which  makes  me  ready 
to  fear  they  lay  too  much  stress  on  the  mere  form  of  go- 
ing to  a  place  of  worship.  Now,  for  my  part,  I  always 
find  that  it  requires  a  little  time  to  bring  my  mind  into  a 
state  fit  to  do  any  common  business  well,  much  more  this 
great  and  most  necessary  business  of  all."  "Yes,  sir," 
said  the  shepherd,  "and  then  I  think,  too,  how  busy  I 
should  be  in  preparing  my  mind,  if  I  was  going  into  the 
presence  of  a  great  gentleman,  or  a  lord,  or  a  king;  and 


SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  21 

shall  the  King  of  kings  be  treated  with  less  respect? 
Besides,  one  likes  to  see  people  feel  as  if  going  to  church 
was  a  thing  of  choice  and  pleasure,  as  well  as  a  duty, 
and  that  they  were  as  desirous  not  to  be  the  last  there,  as 
they  would  be  if  they  were  going  to  a  feast  or  a  fair." 

After  service,  Mr.  Jenkins  the  clergyman,  who  was 
well  acquainted  with  the  character  of  Mr.  Johnson,  and 
had  a  great  respect  for  him,  accosted  him  with  much  civil- 
ity ;  expressing  his  concern  that  he  could  not  enjoy  just 
now  so  much  of  his  conversation  as  he  wished,  as  he  was 
obliged  to  visit  a  sick  person  at  a  distance,  but  hoped  to 
have  a  little  talk  with  him  before  he  left  the  village. 
As  they  walked  along  together,  Mr.  Johnson  made  such 
inquiries  about  the  shepherd  as  served  to  confirm  him  in 
the  high  opinion  he  entertained  of  his  piety,  good  sense, 
industry,  and  self-denial.  They  parted,  the  clergyman 
promising  to  call  in  at  the  cottage  on  his  way  home. 

The  shepherd,  who  took  it  for  granted  that  Mr.  John- 
son was  gone  to  the  parsonage,  walked  home  with  his 
wife  and  children,  and  was  beginning  in  his  usual  way  to 
catechize  and  instruct  his  family,  when  Mr.  Johnson  came 
in,  and  insisted  that  the  shepherd  should  go  on  with  his 
instructions  just  as  if  he  were  not  there.  This  gentleman 
who  was  very  desirous  of  being  useful  to  his  own  servants 
and  workmen  in  the  way  of  religious  instruction,  was 
sometimes  sorry  to  find,  that  though  he  took  a  good  deal 
of  pains,  they  did  not  now  and  then  quite  understand  him  ; 
for  though  his  meaning  was  very  good,  his  language  was 
not  always  very  plain;  and  though  the  things  he  said 
were  not  hard  to  be  understood,  yet  the  words  were,  es- 
pecially to  such  as  were  very  ignorant.  And  he  now  be- 
gan to  find  out,  that  if  people  were  ever  so  wise  and 
good,  yet  if  they  had  not  a  simple,  agreeable,  and  familiar 
way  of  expressing  themselves,  some  of  their  plain  hearers 
would  not  be  much  the  better  for  them.  For  this  reason 
he  was  not  above  listening  to  the  plain,  humble  way,  in 


22  SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

which  this  honest  man  taught  his  family:  for  though  he 
knew  that  he  himself  had  many  advantages  over  the 
shepherd,  had  more  learning,  and  could  teach  him  many 
things ;  yet  he  was  not  too  proud  to  learn,  even  of  so  poor 
a  man,  in  any  point  where  he  thought  the  shepherd  might 
have  the  advantage  of  him. 

This  gentleman  was  much  pleased  with  the  know- 
ledge and  piety  he  discovered  in  the  answers  of  the  chil- 
dren; and  desired  the  shepherd  to  tell  him  how  he  con- 
trived to  keep  up  a  sense  of  divine  things  in  his  own  mind 
and  in  that  of  his  family,  with  so  little  leisure  and  so  lit- 
tle reading.  "0,  as  to  that,  sir,"  said  the  shepherd,  "we 
do  not  read  much  except  in  one  book,  to  be  sure,  but  by 
hearty  prayer  for  God's  blessing  on  the  use  of  that  book, 
what  little  knowledge  is  needful  seems  to  come  of  course, 
as  it  were ;  and  my  chief  study  has  been,  to  bring  the 
fruits  of  the  Sunday  reading  into  the  week's  business,  and 
to  keep  up  the  same  sense  of  God  in  the  heart,  when  the 
Bible  is  in  the  cupboard,  as  when  it  is  in  the  hand.  In 
short,  to  apply  what  I  read  in  the  book  to  what  I  meet 
with  in  the  field." 

"I  don't  quite  understand  you,"  said  Mr.  Johnson. 
"Sir,"  replied  the  shepherd,  "I  have  but  a  poor  gift  at 
conveying  these  things  to  others,  though  I  have  much 
comfort  from  them  in  my  own  mind ;  but  I  am  sure  that 
the  most  ignorant  and  hard-working  people,  who  are  in 
earnest  about  their  salvation,  may  help  to  keep  up  devout 
thoughts  and  good  affections  during  the  week,  though  they 
have  hardly  any  time  to  look  at  a  book.  And  it  will  help 
them  to  keep  out  bad  thoughts,  too,  which  is  no  small 
matter.  But  then  they  must  know  the  Bible ;  they  must 
have  read  the  word  of  God ;  that  is  a  kind  of  stock  in 
trade  for  a  Christian  to  set  up  with ;  and  it  is  this  which 
makes  me  so  diligent  in  teaching  it  to  my  children,  and 
even  in  storing  their  memories  with  psalms  and  chapters. 
This  is  a  great  help  to  a  poor,  hard-working  man,  who 


SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  23 

will  scarcely  meet  with  any  thing  but  what  he  may  turn 
to  some  good  account.  If  one  lives  in  the  fear  and  love 
of  God,  almost  every  thing  one  sees  abroad  will  teach  one 
to  adore  his  power  and  goodness,  and  bring  to  mind  some 
text  of  Scripture,  which  shall  fill  the  heart  with  thank- 
fulness and  the  mouth  with  praise.  When  I  look  upwards, 
'the  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God;'  and  shall  I  be 
silent  and  ungrateful  ?  If  I  look  round  and  see  the  val- 
leys standing  thick  with  corn,  how  can  I  help  blessing 
that  Power,  'who  giveth  me  all  things  richly  to  enjoy?' 
I  may  learn  gratitude  from  the  beasts  of  the  field,  for  the 
'ox  knoweth  his  owner,  and  the  ass  his  master's  crib;' 
and  shall  a  Christian  not  know,  shall  a  Christian  not  con- 
sider what  great  things  God  has  done  for  him?  I,  who 
am  a  shepherd,  endearvor  to  fill  my  soul  with  a  constant 
remembrance  of  that  good  Shepherd,  who  '  feedeth  me  in 
green  pastures,  and  maketh  me  to  lie  down  beside  the 
still  waters,  and  whose  rod  and  staff  comfort  me.'" 

"  You  are  happy,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  "  in  this  retired 
life,  by  which  you  escape  the  corruptions  of  the  world." 
"  Sir,"  said  the  shepherd,  "  I  do  not  escape  the  corruptions 
of  my  own  evil  nature.  Even  there,  on  that  wild  solitary 
hill,  I  can  find  out  that  my  heart  is  prone  to  evil  thoughts. 
I  suppose,  sir,  that  different  states  have  different  tempta- 
tions. You  great  folks  that  live  in  the  world,  perhaps  are 
exposed  to  some,  of  which  such  a  poor  man  as  I  am  knows 
nothing.  But  to  one  who  leads  a  lonely  life  lik^  me, 
evil  thoughts  are  a  chief  besetting  sin ;  and  I  can  no  more 
withstand  these  without  the  grace  of  God,  than  a  rich 
gentleman  can  withstand  the  snares  of  evil  company, 
without  the  same  grace.  And  I  feel  that  I  stand  in  need 
of  God's  help  continually,  and  if  he  should  give  me  up  to 
my  own  evil  heart,  I  should  be  lost." 

Mr.  Johnson  approved  of  the  shepherd's  sincerity,  for 
he  had  always  observed,  that  where  there  was  no  humil- 
ity, and  no  watchfulness  against  sin,  there  was  no  relig- 


21  SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

ion ;  and  he  said,  that  the  man  who  did  not  feel  himself 
to  be  a  sinner,  in  his  opinion  could  not  be  a  Christian. 

Just  as  they  were  in  this  part  of  their  discourse,  Mr. 
Jenkins  the  clergyman  came  in.  After  the  usual  saluta- 
tions, he  said,  "  Well,  shepherd,  I  wish  you  joy :  I  know 
you  will  be  sorry  to  gain  any  advantage  by  the  death  of  a 
neighbor ;  but  old  Wilson,  my  clerk,  was  so  infirm,  and  I 
trust  so  well  prepared,  that  there  is  no  reason  to  be  sorry 
for  his  death.  I  have  been  to  pray  with  him,  but  he  died 
while  I  staid.  I  have  always  intended  you  should  suc- 
ceed to  his  place  ;  'tis  no  great  matter  of  profit,  but  every 
little  is  something." 

"No  great  matter,  sir!"  cried  the  shepherd;  "indeed 
it  is  a  great  matter  to  me;  'twill  more  than  pay  my  rent. 
Blessed  be  God  for  all  his  goodness."  Mary  said  noth- 
ing, but  lifted  up  her  eyes,  full  of  tears,  in  silent  grati- 
tude. 

"  I  am  glad  of  this  little  circumstance,"  said  Mr.  Jenk- 
ins, "  not  only  for  your  sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  office 
itself.  I  so  heartily  reverence  every  religious  institution, 
that  I  would  never  have  even  the  Amen  added  to  the 
excellent  prayers  of  our  church  by  vain  or  profane  lips; 
and,  if  it  depended  on  me,  there  should  be  no  such  thing 
in  the  land  as  an  idle,  drunken,  or  irreligious  parish-clerk. 
Sorry  I  am  to  say,  that  this  matter  is  not  always  suffi- 
ciently attended  to,  and  that  I  know  some  of  a  very  indif- 
ferent character." 

Mr.  Johnson  now  inquired  of  the  clergyman  whether 
there  were  many  children  in  the  parish.  "More  than 
you  would  expect,"  replied  he,  "from  the  seeming  small- 
ness  of  it,  but  there  are  some  little  hamlets  which  you  do 
not  see." 

"I  think,"  returned  Mr.  Johnson,  "I  recollect  that  in 
the  conversation  I  had  with  the  shepherd  on  the  hill  yon- 
der, he  told  me  you  had  no  Sunday-school."  "  I  am  sorry 
to  say  we  have  none,"  said  the  minister;  "I  do  what  I 


SHEPHERD  CTF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  25 

can  to  remedy  this  misfortune  by  public  catechizing  \  but 
having  two  or  three  churches  to  s'erve,  I  cannot  give  so 
much  time  as  I  wish  to  private  instruction ;  "and  having  a 
large  family  of  my  own,  and  no  assistance  from  others,  I 
have  never  been  able  to  establish  a  school" 

*'  There  is  an  excellent  institution  in  London,"  said  Mr, 
Johnson,  "called  the  Sunday-school  society,  wrhich  kindly 
gives  books  and  other  helps,  on  the  application  of  such 
pious  ministers  as  stand  in  need  of  their  aid,  and  which, 
1  am  sure,  would  have  assisted  you ;  but  I  think  we  shall 
be  able  to  do  something  ourselves.  Shepherd,"  continued 
he,  "  if  I  were  a  king,  and  had  it  in  my  power  to  make 
you  a  rich  and  a  great  man,  with  a  word  speaking,  I  would 
not  do  it.  Those  who  are  raised  by  some  sudden  stroke, 
much  above  the  station  in  which  divine  Providence  had 
placed  them,  seldom  turn  out  good  or  very  happy.  I  have 
never  had  any  great  things  in  my  power,  but  as  far  as  I 
have  been  able,  I  have  always  been  glad  to  assist  the 
worthy ;  I  have,  however,  never  attempted  or  desired  to 
set  any  poor  man  much  above  his  natural  condition ;  but 
it  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  lend  him  such  assistance  as  may 
make  that  condition  more  easy  to  himself,  and  to  put  him 
in  a  way  which  shall  call  him  to  the  performance  of  more 
duties  than  perhaps  he  could  have  performed  without  my 
help,  and  of  performing  them  in  a  better  manner.  What 
rent  do  you  pay  for  this  cottage  ?" 

"  Fifty  shillings  a  year,  sir." 

"It  is  in  a  sad,  tattered  condition .;  is  there  not  a  bet- 
ter to  be  had  in  the  village  V1 

"  That  in  which  the  poor  clerk  lived,"  said  the  clergy- 
man, "  is  not  only  more  tight  and  whole,  but  has  two  de- 
cent chambers,  and  a  very  large,  light  kitchen."  "  That 
will  be  very  convenient,"  replied  Mr.  Johnson ;  "  pray 
what  is  the  rent  ?"  "  I  think,"  said  the  shepherd,  "  pooi 
neighbor  Wilson  gave  somewhere  about  four  pounds  a 
year,  or  it  might  be  guineas."  "  Very  well,"  said  Mr 
vol.  i,  6 


26  SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

Johnson,  "  and  what  will  the  clerk's  place  be  worth,  think 
you  V     "  About  three  pounds,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Now,"  continued  Mr.  Johnson,  M  my  plan  is,  that  the 
shepherd  should  take  that  house  immediately;  for  as  the 
poor  man  is  dead,  there  will  be  no  need  of  waiting  till 
quarter-day,  if  I  make  up  the  difference."  "True,  sir," 
said  Mr.  Jenkins,  "  and  I  am  sure  my  wife's  father,  whom 
1  expect  to-morrow,  will  willingly  assist  a  little  towards 
buying  some  of  the  clerk's  old  goods.  And  the  sooner 
they  remove  the  better,  for  poor  Mary  caught  that  bad 
rheumatism  by  sleeping  under  a  leaky  thatch."  The 
shepherd  was  too  much  moved  to  speak,  and  Mary  could 
hardly  sob  out,  "  0,  sir,  you  are  too  good ;  indeed,  this 
house  will  do  very  well."  "  It  may  do  very  well  for  you 
and  your  poor  children,  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Johnson  gravely, 
"but  it  will  not  do  for  a  school;  the  kitchen  is  neither 
large  nor  light  enough.  Shepherd,"  continued  he,  "  with 
your  good  minister's  leave  and  kind  assistance,  I  propose  to 
set  up  in  this  parish  a  Sunday-school,  and  to  make  you  the 
master.  It  will  not  interfere  with  your  weekly  calling, 
and  it  is  the  only  lawful  way  in  which  you  can  turn  the 
Sabbath  into  a  day  of  some  little  profit  to  your  family,  by 
doing,  as  I  hope,  a  great  deal  of  good  to  the  souls  of  oth- 
ers. The  rest  of  the  week  you  will  work  as  usual.  The 
difference  of  rent  between  this  house  and  the  clerk's,  I 
shall  pay  myself;  for  to  put  you  in  a  better  house  at  your 
own  expense,  would  be  no  great  kindness.  As  for  honest 
Mary,  who  is  not  fit  for  hard  labor,  or  any  out-of-door 
work,  I  propose  to  endow  a  small  weekly  school,  of  which 
she  shall  be  the  mistress,  and  employ  her  notable  turn  to 
good  account,  by  teaching  ten  or  a  dozen  girls  to  knit, 
sew,  spin,  card,  or  any  other  useful  way  of  getting  their 
bread ;  for  all  this  I  shall  only  pay  her  the  usual  price, 
for  I  am  not  going  to  make  you  rich,  but  useful." 

"  Not  rich,  sir  !"  cried  the  shepherd.  "  How  can  I 
ever  be  thankful   enough  for  such  blessings?     And  will 


SHEPHERD  OF   SALISBURY   PLAIN  27 

my  poor  Mary  have  a  dry  thatch  overhead?  and  shall  I 
be  able  to  send  for  the  doctor,  when  I  am  like  to  lose  her7 
Indeed,  my  cup  runs  over  with  blessings.  I  hope  God 
will  give  me  humility."  Here  he  and  Mary  looked  at 
each  other  and  burst  into  tears.  The  gentlemen  saw 
their  distress,  and  kindly  walked  out  upon  the  green  be- 
fore the  door,  that  these  honest  people  might  give  vent 
to  their  feelings.  As  soon  as  they  were  alone  they  crept 
into  one  corner  of  the  room,  where  they  thought  they 
could  not  be  seen,  and  fell  on  their  knees,  devoutly  bless- 
ing and  praising  God  for  his  mercies.  Never  were  heart- 
ier prayers  presented  than  this  grateful  couple  offered  up 
for  their  benefactors.  The  warmth  of  their  gratitude 
could  only  be  equalled  by  the  earnestness  with  which 
they  besought  the  blessing  of  God  on  the  work  in  which, 
they  were  going  to  engage. 

The  two  gentleman  now  left  this  happy  family,  and 
walked  to  the  parsonage,  where  the  evening  was  spent  in 
a  manner  very  edifying  to  Mr.  Johnson,  who  the  next  day 
took  all  proper  measures  for  putting  the  shepherd  in  im- 
mediate possession  of  his  now  comfortable  habitation. 
Mr.  Jenkins'  father-in-law,  the  worthy  gentleman  who 
gave  the  shepherd's  wife  the  blankets,  in  the  first  part  of 
this  history,  arrived  at  the  parsonage  before  Mr.  Johnson 
left  it,  and  assisted  in  fitting  up  the  clerk's  cottage. 

Mr.  Johnson  took  his  leave,  promising  to  call  on  the 
worthy  minister  and  his  new  clerk  once  a  year,  in  his 
summer's  journey  over  the  plain,  as  long  as  it  would 
please  God  to  spare  his  life. 


28  SHEPHERD  OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

THE    SHEPHERD'S    HYMN. 

The  Lord  my  pasture  shall  prepare, 
And  feed  me  with  a  shepherd's  care; 
His  presence  shall  my  wants  supply, 
And  guard  me  with  a  watchful  eye : 
My  noon-day  walks  he  shall  attend, 
And  all  my  midnight  hours  defend. 

When  on  the  sultry  glebe  I  faint, 
Or  on  the  thirsty  mountain  pant, 
To  fertile  vales  and  dewy  meads 
My  weary,  wftnd'ring  steps  he  leads, 
Where  peaceful  rivers,  soft  and  slow, 
Amid  the  verdant  landscape  flow. 

Though  in  the  paths  of  death  I  tread, 
With  gloomy  horrors  overspread, 
My  steadfast  heart  shall  fear  no  ill, 
For  thou.  0  Lord,  art  with  me  still ; 
Thy  friendly  arm  shall  give  me  aid, 
And  guide  me  through  the  dreadful  shade. 

Though  in  a  bare  and  rugged  way, 
Through  devious,  lonely  wilds  1  stray, 
Thy  bounty  shall  my  pains  beguile  ; 
The  barren  wilderness  shall  smile, 
With  sudden  greens  and  herbage  crowned, 
And  streams  shall  murmur  all  around. 


NARRATIVE   III. 


'TIS  ALL  FOR  THE  BEST, 


BY  MRS.  HANNAH  MORE. 


"It  is  all  for  the  best,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  whenever 
any  misfortune  befell  her.  She  had  such  a  habit  of  vindi- 
cating Providence,  that,  instead  of  weeping  and  murmur- 
ing under  the  most  trying  dispensations,  her  chief  care  was 
to  convince  herself  and  others,  that,  however  great  might 
be  her  sufferings,  and  however  little  they  could  be  account- 
ed for  at  present,  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  could  not  but 
do  right.  Instead  of  trying  to  clear  herself  from  any  possi- 
ble blame  that  might  attach  to  her  under  those  infirmities, 
which,  to  sneak  after  the  manner  of  men,  she  seemed  not 
to  deserve,  she  was  always  the  first  to  justify  Him  who 


2  'tis  all  for  the  best. 

had  inflicted  them.  It  was  not  that  she  superstitiously  con. 
verted  every  visitation  into  a  punishment ;  she  entertained 
more  correct  ideas  of  that  God  who  overrules  all  events. 
She  knew  that  some  calamities  were  sent  to  exercise  her 
faith,  others  to  purify  her  heart ;  some  to  chastise  her  sins, 
and  all,  to  remind  her  that  this  "  is  not  our  rest,"  that  this 
world  is  not  the  scene  for  the  full  and  final  display  of  retri- 
butive justice.  The  honor  of  God  was  dearer  to  her  than 
her  own  credit,  and  her  chief  desire  was  to  turn  all  events 
to  his  glory. 

Though  Mrs.  Simpson  was  the  daughter  of  a  clergy- 
man, and  the  widow  of  a  genteel  tradesman,  she  had  been 
reduced,  by  a  succession  of  misfortunes,  to  accept  of  a  room 
in  an  almshouse.  Instead  of  repining  at  the  change,  in- 
stead of  dwelling  on  her  former  gentility,  and  saying, 
"  how  handsomely  she  had  lived  once ;  and  how  hard  it 
was  to  be  reduced ;  and  she  little  thought  ever  to  end  her 
days  in  an  almshouse ;"  (which  is  the  common  language 
of  those  who  were  never  so  well  off  before  ;)  she  was  thank- 
ful that  such  an  asylum  was  provided  for  want  and  age; 
and  blessed  God  that  it  was  to  the  Christian  dispensation 
alone  that  such  pious  institutions  owed  their  birth. 

One  fine  evening,  as  she  was  sitting,  reading  her  Bible, 
on  the  little  bench  shaded  with  honeysuckles,  just  before 
her  door,  who  should  come  and  sit  down  by  her  but  Mrs. 
Betty,  who  had  formerly  been  lady's  maid  at  the  noble- 
man's house  in  the  village  of  which  Mrs.  Simpson's  father 
had  been  minister.  Betty,  after  a  life  of  vanity,  was,  by 
train  of  misfortunes,  brought  to  this  very  almshouse ;  and 
though  she  had  taken  no  care,  by  frugality  and  prudence, 
to  avoid  it,  she  thought  it  a  hardship  and  disgrace,  instead 
of  being  thankful,  as  she  ought  to  have  been,  for  such  a 
retreat.      At  first  she  did  not  know  Mrs.  Simpson  ;    ner 


'tis  all  for  the  best.  3 

large  bonnet,  cloak,  and  brown  stufFgown,  (for  she  always 
made  her  appearance  conform  to  her  circumstances,)  being 
very  different  from  the  dress  she  had  been  used  to  weai 
when  Mrs.  Betty  had  seen  her  dining  at  the  great  house ; 
and  time  and  sorrow  had  much  altered  her  countenance. 
But  when  Mrs.  Simpson  kindly  addressed  her  as  an  old 
acquaintance,  she  screamed  with  surprise, 

"  What !  you,  madam  !  you  in  an  almshouse,  living  on 
charity  ?  you,  who  used  to  be  so  charitable  yourself  thai 
you  never  suffered  any  distress  in  the  parish  which  you 
could  prevent  ?" 

"  That  may  be  one  reason,  Betty,"  replied  Mrs.  Simp- 
son, "  why  Providence  has  provided  this  refuge  for  my  old 
age.  And  my  heart  overflows  with  gratitude  when  I  look 
back  on  his  goodness." 

"  No  such  great  goodness,  methinks,"  said  Betty ; 
"why,  you  were  born  and  bred  a  lady,  and  are  now  re- 
duced to  live  in  an  almshouse." 

"  Betty,  I  was  born  and  bred  a  sinner,  undeserving  of 
the  mercies  I  have  received." 

"  No  such  great  mercies,"  said  Betty ;  "  why,  I  heard 
you  had  been  turned  out  of  doors,  that  your  husband  had 
broke,  and  that  you  had  been  in  danger  of  starving,  though 
I  did  not  know  what  was  become  of  you." 

"  It  is  all  true,  Betty,  glory  be  to  God !  it  is  all  true." 

"  Well,"  said  Betty,  "  you  are  an  odd  sort  of  a  gentle- 
woman. If  from  a  prosperous  condition  I  had  been  made 
a  bankrupt,  a  widow,  and  a  beggar,  I  should  have  thought 
it  no  such  mighty  matter  to  be  thankful  for ;  but  there  is 
no  accounting  for  taste.  The  neighbors  used  to  say  that 
all  your  troubles  must  needs  be  a  judgment  upon  you  ;  but 
I,  who  knew  how  good  you  were,  thought  it  very  hard  you 
should  suffer  so  much ;  but  now  I  see  you  reduced  to  an 
almshouse,  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,  but  I  am  afraid  the 


neighbors  were  in  the  right,  and  that  so  many  misfortunes 
could  never  have  happened  to  you  unless  you  had  commit- 
ted a  great  many  sins  to  deserve  them  ;  for  I  always  thought 
that  God  is  so  just  that  he  punishes  us  for  all  our  bad  ac- 
tions, and  rewards  us  for  all  our  good  ones." 

"  Ay,  Betty ;  but  he  does  it  in  his  own  way,  and  at  his 
own  time,  and  not  according  to  our  notions  of  good  and 
evil ;  for  his  ways  are  not  as  our  ways.  God,  indeed, 
punishes  the  bad  and  rewards  the  good ;  but  he  does  not 
do  it  fully  and  finally  in  this  world.  Indeed,  he  does  not 
set  such  a  value  on  outward  things  as  to  make  riches,  and 
rank,  and  beauty,  and  health,  the  rewards  of  piety  ;  that 
would  be  acting  like  weak  and  erring  men,  and  not  like  a 
just  and  holy  God.  Our  belief  in  a  future  state  of  rewards 
and  punishments  is  not  always  so  strong  as  it  ought  to  be, 
even  now  ;  but  how  totally  would  our  faith  fail  if  we  regu- 
larly saw  everything  made  even  in  this  world.  We  shall 
lose  nothing  by  having  pay-day  put  off.  The  longest  voy- 
ages make  the  best  returns.  So  far  am  I  from  thinking 
that  God  is  less  just,  and  future  happiness  less  certain,  be- 
cause I  see  the  wicked  sometimes  prosper,  and  the  righteous 
suffer  in  this  world,  that  I  am  rather  led  to  believe  that  God 
is  more  just,  and  heaven  more  certain ;  for,  in  the  first 
place,  God  will  not  put  off  his  favorite  children  with  so 
poor  a  lot  as  the  good  things  of  this  world  ;  and  next,  see- 
ing that  the  best  men  here  below  do  not  often  attain  to  the 
best  things,  why,  it  only  serves  to  strengthen  my  belief  that 
they  are  not  the  best  things  in  His  eye  ;  and  He  has  most 
assuredly  reserved  for  those  that  love  Him,  such  good 
things  as  I  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard.'  God,  by  keep- 
ing man  in  paradise  while  he  was  innocent,  and  turning 
him  into  this  world  as  soon  as  he  had  sinned,  gave  a  plain 
proof  that  he  never  intended  this  world,  even  in  its  happiest 
state,  as  a  place  of  reward.     My  father  gave  me  good  prin- 


ciples  and  useful  knowledge ;  and  while  he  taught  me,  by 
a  habit  of  constant  employment,  to  be,  if  I  may  so  say,  in. 
dependent  of  the  world,  he,  at  the  same  time,  led  me  to  a 
constant  sense  of  dependence  on  God." 

"  I  do  not  see,  however,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Betty,  "  that 
^ our  religion  has  been  of  any  use  to  you.  It  has  been  so 
far  from  preserving  you  from  trouble,  that  I  think  you  have 
had  more  than  the  usual  share." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson  ;  "  nor  did  Christianity  ever 
pretend  to  exempt  its  followers  from  trouble ;  this  is  no  part 
of  the  promise.  Nay,  the  contrary  is  rather  stipulated : 
'in  the  world  ye  shall  have  tribulation.'  But  if  it  has  not 
taught  me  to  escape  sorrow,  1  humbly  hope  it  has  taught 
me  how  to  bear  it.  If  it  has  not  taught  me  not  to  feel,  it  has 
taught  me  not  to  murmur.  I  will  tell  you  a  little  of  my 
story.  As  my  father  could  save  little  or  nothing  for  me, 
he  was  very  desirous  of  seeing  me  married  to  a  young 
gentleman  in  the  neighborhood  who  expressed  a  regard 
for  me.  But  while  he  was  anxiously  engaged  in  bringing 
this  about,  my  good  father  died." 

"  How  very  unlucky  !"  interrupted  Betty. 

"  No,  Betty,"  replied  Mrs.  Simpson,  "  it  was  very  prov- 
idential ;  this  man,  though  he  maintained  a  decent  charac- 
ter, had  a  good  fortune,  and  lived  soberly,  yet  he  would 
not  have  made  me  happy." 

"  Why,  what  could  you  want  more  of  a  man  ?"  said 
Bettv. 

"Religion,"  returned  Mrs.  Simpson.  "As  my  father 
made  a  creditable  appearance,  and  was  very  charitable, 
and  I  was  an  only  child,  this  gentleman  concluded  that  he 
could  give  me  a  considerable  fortune ;  for  he  did  not  know 
that  all  the  poor  in  his  parish  are  the  children  of  every 
pious  clergyman.  Finding  I  had  little  or  nothing  left  me, 
hd  withdrew  his  attentions." 
vol.  i.  7* 


6  *T1S    ALL    FOR    THE    BEST. 

"  What  a  sad  thing  !"  cried  Betty. 

k.»  No,  it  was  all  for  the  best ;  Providence  overruled  his 
covetousness  to  my  good.  I  could  not  have  been  happy 
with  a  man  whose  soul  was  set  on  the  perishable  things  of 
this  world  ;  nor  did  I  esteem  him,  though  I  labored  to  sub- 
mit my  own  inclinations  to  those  of  my  kind  father.  The 
very  circumstance  of  being  left  pennyless  produced  directly 
the  contrary  effect  on  Mr.  Simpson :  he  was  a  sensible 
young  man,  engaged  in  a  prosperous  business  ;  we  had  long 
highly  valued  each  other;  but  while  my  father  lived,  he 
thought  me  above  his  hopes.  We  were  married  ;  I  found 
him  an  amiable,  industrious,  good-tempered  man ;  he  re- 
spected religion  and  religious  people  ;  but  with  an  excellent 
disposition,  I  had  the  grief  to  find  him  less  pious  than  I  had 
hoped.  He  was  ambitious,  and  a  little  too  much  immersed 
in  worldly  schemes  ;  and  though  I  knew  it  was  all  done  for 
my  sake,  yet  that  did  not  blind  me  so  far  as  to  make  me 
think  it  right.  He  attached  himself  so  eagerly  to  business 
that  he  thought  every  hour  lost  in  which  he  was  not  doing 
something  that  would  tend  to  raise  me  to  what  he  called  my 
proper  rank.  The  more  prosperous  he  grew,  the  less  re- 
ligious he  became ;  and  I  began  to  find  that  one  might  be 
unhappy  with  a  husband  she  tenderly  loved.  But  one  day, 
having  been  absent  on  business,  he  was  brought  in  with  his 
leg  broken  in  two  places." 

"  What  a  dreadful  misfortune !"  said  Mrs.  Betty. 

"What  a  signal  blessing  !"  said  Mrs.  Simpson.  "  Here, 
I  am  sure  I  had  reason  to  say  all  was  for  the  best :  from 
that  very  hour,  in  which  my  outward  troubles  began,  I  date 
the  beginning  of  my  happiness.  Severe  suffering,  a  near 
prospect  of  death,  absence  from  the  world,  silence,  reflec- 
tion, and,  above  all,  the  divine  blessing  on  the  prayers  and 
Scriptures  I  read  to  him,  were  the  means  used  by  our  merci- 
ful Father  to  turn  my  husband's  heart.     During  this.confine- 


ment  he  was  awakened  to  a  deep  sense  of  his  own  sinfulness, 
of  the  vanity  of  all  this  world  has  to  bestow,  and  of  his  great 
need  of  a  Saviour.  It  was  many  months  before  he  could 
leave  his  bed.  During  this  time  his  business  was  neglected. 
His  principal  clerk  took  advantage  of  his  absence  to  receive 
large  sums  of  money  in  his  name,  and  absconded.  On 
hearing  of  this  great  loss,  our  creditors  came  faster  upon 
us  than  we  could  answer  their  demands ;  they  grew  more 
impatient  as  we  were  less  able  to  satisfy  them ;  one  mis- 
fortune followed  another,  till  at  length  Mr.  Simpson  became 
a  bankrupt." 

"  What  an  evil !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Betty. 

"  Yet  it  led,  in  the  end,  to  much  good,"  resumed  Mrs. 
Simpson.  "  We  were  forced  to  leave  the  town  in  which 
we  had  lived  with  so  much  credit  and  comfort,  and  to  be- 
take ourselves  to  a  mean  lodging  in  a  neighboring  village, 
till  my  husband's  strength  should  be  recruited,  and  till  we 
could  have  time  to  look  about  us  and  see  what  was  to  be 
done.  The  first  night  we  spent  in  this  poor  dwelling  my 
husband  felt  very  sorrowful,  not  for  his  own  sake,  but  that 
he  had  brought  so  much  poverty  on  me,  whom  he  so  dearly 
loved.  I,  on  the  contrary,  was  unusually  cheerful ;  for 
the  blessed  change  in  his  mind  had  more  than  reconciled 
me  to  the  sad  change  in  his  circumstances.  I  was  con- 
tented to  live  with  him  in  a  poor  cottage  for  a  few  years  or. 
earth,  if  it  might  contribute  to  our  spending  a  blessed  eter- 
nity together  in  heaven.  I  said  to  him,  instead  of  lamenting 
that  we  are  now  reduced  to  want  all  the  comforts  of  life,  I 
have  sometimes  been  almost  ashamed  to  live  in  the  full 
enjoyment  of  them,  when  I  have  reflected  that  my  Saviour 
not  only  chose  to  deny  himself  all  these  enjoyments,  but 
even  to  live  a  life  of  hardship  for  my  sake  :  not  one  of  his 
numerous  miracles  tended  to  his  own  comfort ;  and  though 
we    read,   at  different  times,   that  he  both  hungered    and 


8  'tis  all  for  the  best. 

thirsted,  yet  it  was  not  for  his  own  gratification  that  he 
once  changed  water  into  wine ;  and  I  have  often  been 
struck  with  the  nea^r  position  of  that  chapter  in  which  this 
miracle  is  recorded,  to  that  in  which  he  thirsted  for  a 
draught  of  water  at  the  well  of  Samaria.  John  2  and  4. 
It  was  for  others,  not  himself,  that  even  the  humble  sus 
tenance  of  barley  bread  was  multiplied.  See  here,  we 
have  a  bed  left  us ;  (I  had,  indeed,  nothing  but  straw  to  fill 
\t  with;)  but  the  Saviour  of  the  world  <  had  not  where  to 
\iy  his  head.'  My  husband  smiled  through  his  tears, 
and  we  sat  down  to  supper.  It  consisted  of  a  roll  and  a 
bit  of  cheese  which  I  had  brought  with  me,  and  we  ate  it 
thankfully.  Seeing  Mr.  Simpson  beginning  to  relapse  into 
distrust,  the  following  conversation,  as  nearly  as  I  can 
remember,  took  place  between  us. 

"  He  began  by  remarking,  that  it  was  a  mysterious 
Providence  that  he  had  been  less  prosperous  since  he  had 
been  less  attached  to  the  world,  and  that  his  endeavors  had 
not  been  followed  with  that  success  which  usually  attends 
industry. 

"I  took  the  liberty  to  reply,  Your  heavenly  Father 
sees  on  which  side  your  danger  lies,  and  is  mercifully 
bringing  you,  by  these  disappointments,  to  trust  less  in  the 
world,  and  more  in  himself.  My  dear  Mr.  Simpson,  added 
I,  we  trust  every  body  but  God.  As  children,  we  obey 
our  parents  implicitly,  because  we  are  taught  to  believe  all 
is  for  our  good  which  they  command  or  forbid.  If  we 
undertake  a  voyage,  we  trust  entirely  to  the  skill  and  con- 
duct  of  the  pilot ;  we  never  torment  ourselves  with  thinking 
that  he  will  carry  us  east,  when  he  has  promised  to  carry 
us  west.  If  a  dear  and  tried  friend  makes  us  a  promise,  we 
depend  on  him  for  the  performance,  and  do  not  wound 
his  feelings  by  our  suspicions.  When  you  used  to  go  your 
annual  journey  in  the  mail-coach,  you  confided  yourself  to 


'TIS   ALL   FOR   THE    BEST.  9 

the  care  of  the  coachman,  that  he  would  carry  you  where 
he  had  engaged  to ;  you  were  not  anxiously  watching  him, 
and  distrusting,  and  inquiring  at  every  turn.  When  the 
doctor  sends  home  your  medicine,  don't  you  so  fully  trust 
in  his  ability  and  good- will  that  you  take  it  in  full  confi- 
dence ?  You  never  think  of  inquiring  what  are  the 
ingredients,  why  they  are  mixed  in  that  particular  way, 
why  there  is  more  of  one  and  less  of  another,  and  why 
they  are  bitter  instead  of  sweet.  If  one  dose  does  not  cure 
you,  he  orders  another ;  and  changes  the  medicine  when  he 
sees  the  first  does  you  no  good,  or  that  by  long  use  the 
same  medicine  has  lost  its  effect;  if  a  weaker  fail,  he  pre- 
scribes a  stronger;  you  swallow  all,  you  submit  to  all, 
never  questioning  the  skill  or  the  kindness  of  the  physi- 
cian. God  is  the  only  being  whom  we  do  not  trust ;  though 
he  is  the  only  one  who  is  fully  competent,  both  in  will  and 
power,  to  fulfil  all  his  promises;  and  who  has  solemnly 
and  repeatedly  pledged  himself  to  fulfil  them,  in  those 
Scriptures  which  we  receive  as  his  revealed  will. 

"  Mr.  Simpson  thanked  me  for  'my  little  sermon,'  as  he 
called  it ;  but  said,  at  the  same  time,  that  what  made  my 
exhortations  produce  a  powerful  effect  on  his  mind,  was  the 
patient  cheerfulness  with  which  (he  was  pleased  to  say)  I 
bore  my  share  in  our  misfortunes.  A  submissive  behavior, 
he  said,  was  the  best  practical  illustration  of  a  real  faith. 

"When  we  had  thanked  God  for  our  supper,  we  prayed 
together ;  after  which  we  read  the  eleventh  chapter  of  the 
Epistle  to  the  Hebrews.  When  my  husband  had  finished 
it  he  said,  <  Surely,  if  God's  chief  favorites  have  been 
martyrs,  is  not  that  a  sufficient  proof  that  this  world  is  not 
a  place  of  happiness,  nor  earthly  prosperity  the  reward  of 
virtue  ?  Shall  we,  after  reading  this  chapter,  complain  of 
our  petty  trials  ?  Shall  we  not  rather  be  thankful  that  our 
affliction  is  so  light  V 

El  eg.  Nar.  7 


10  'tis  all  for  the  best. 

"  Next  day  Mr.  Simpson  walked  out  in  search  of  some 
employment,  by  which  we  might  be  supported.  He  got  a 
recommendation  to  Mr.  Thomas,  an  opulent  farmer  and 
factor,  who  had  large  concerns,  and  wanted  a  skilful  per- 
son to  assist  him  in  keeping  his  accounts.  This  we  thought 
a  providential  circumstance  ;  for  we  found  that  the  salary 
would  serve  to  procure  us  at  least  all  the  necessaries  of 
life.  The  farmer  was  so  pleased  with  Mr.  Simpson's  quick- 
ness, regularity,  and  good  sense,  that  he  offered  us,  of  his 
own  accord,  a  little  neat  cottage  of  his  own,  which  then 
happened  to  be  vacant,  and  told  us  we  should  live  rent-free, 
and  promised  to  be  a  friend  to  us." 

"  All  does  seem  for  the  best  now,  indeed,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Betty. 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  and  thus  went  on  : 

"  I  now  became  very  easy  and  very  happy ;  and  was 
cheerfully  employed  in  putting  our  few  things  in  order, 
and  making  every  thing  look  to  the  best  advantage.  My 
husband,  who  wrote  all  the  day  for  his  employer,  in  the 
evenings  assisted  me  in  doing  up  our  little  garden.  This 
was  a  source  of  much  pleasure  to  us ;  we  both  loved  a 
garden,  and  we  were  not  only  contented,  but  cheerful. 
Our  employer  had  been  absent  some  weeks  on  his  annual 
journey.  He  came  home  on  Saturday  night,  and  the  next 
morning  sent  for  Mr.  Simpson  to  come  and  settle  his  ac- 
counts, which  were  behindhand  on  account  of  his  long 
absence.  We  were  just  going  to  church,  and  Mr.  Simp- 
son sent  back  word  that  he  would  call  and  speak  to  him  on 
his  way  home.  A  second  message  followed,  ordering  him 
to  come  to  the  farmer's  directly.  We  agreed  to  walk 
round  that  way,  and  that  my  husband  should  call  and  ex- 
cuse his  attendance. 

"  The  farmer,  more  ignorant  and  worse  educated  than 
his  ploughman,  with  all  that  pride  and  haughtiness  which 


'tis  all  for  the  best.  11 

the  possession  of  wealth,  without  knowledge  or  religion,  is 
apt  to  give,  rudely  asked  my  husband  what  he  meant  by 
sending  him  word  that  he  could  not  come  to  him  till  the 
next  day,  and  insisted  that  he  should  stay  and  settle  the 
accounts  then. 

" ( Sir,'  said  my  husband,  in  a  very  respectful  manner, 
1 1  am  on  my  road  to  church,  and  am  afraid  I  shall  be  too 
late.' 

"  '  Are  you  so  V  said  the  farmer.  *  Do  you  know  who 
sent  for  you  1  You  may,  however,  go  to  church,  if  you  will, 
so  you  make  haste  back  j  and,  d'ye  hear,  you  may  leave 
your  accounts  with  me,  as  I  conclude  you  have  brought 
them  with  you  ;  I  will  look  them  over  by  the  time  you  re- 
turn, and  then  you  and  I  can  do  all  I  want  to  have  done  to- 
day in  about  a  couple  of  hours ;  and  I  will  give  vou  home 
some  letters  to  copy  for  me  in  the  evening.' 

"  <  Sir,'  answered  my  husband,  '  I  dare  not  obey  you  , 
it  is  the  Sabbath.' 

"  '  And  so  you  refuse  to  settle  my  accounts  only  because 
it  is  Sunday  V 

"  '  Sir,'  replied  Mr.  Simpson,  '  if  you  would  give  me  a 
handful  of  silver  and  gold,  I  dare  not  break  the  command- 
ment of  my  God.' 

"  i  Well,'  said  the  farmer,  <  but  this  is  not  breaking  the 
commandment ;  I  don't  order  you  to  drive  my  cattle,  or  to 
work  in  my  garden,  or  to  do  anything  which  you  might 
fancy  would  be  a  bad  example.' 

"  <  Sir,'  replied  my  husband,  '  the  example,  indeed,  goes 
a  great  way,  but  it  is  not  the  first  object.  •  The  deed  is 
wrong  in  itself.' 

"  '  Well,  but  I  shall  not  keep  you  from  church ;  and 
when  you  have  been  there,  there  is  no  harm  in  doing  a 
little  business  or  taking  a  little  pleasure  the  rest  of  the  day.' 

"  '  Sir,'  answered  my  husband,  '  the  commandment  does 


12  'tis  all  for  the  best. 

not  say,  thou  shalt  keep  holy  '-he  Sabbath  morning,  but  the 
Sabbath  day.9 

"  '  Get  out  of  my  house,  you  puritanical  rascal,  and  out 
of  my  cottage  too,5  said  the  farmer ;  *  for  if  you  refuse  to 
do  my  work,  I  am  not  bound  to  keep  my  engagement  with 
you ;  as  you  will  not  obey  me  as  a  master,  I  shall  not  pay 
you  as  a  servant.' 

"  '  Sir,'  said  Mr.  Simpson,  '  I  would  gladly  obey  you, 
but  I  have  a  Master  in  heaven  whom  I  dare  not  disobey.' 

"  '  Then  let  him  find  employment  for  you,'  said  the  en- 
raged farmer  ;  *  for  I  fancy  you#  will  get  but  poor  employ- 
ment on  earth  with  these  scrupulous  notions  ;  and  so  send 
home  my  papers  directly,  and  pack  out  of  the  parish.' 

" *  Out  of  your  cottage,'  said  my  husband,  'I  certainly 
will ;  but  as  to  the  parish,  I  hope  I  may  remain  in  that,  if  1 
can  find  employment.' 

"  'I  will  make  it  too  hot  to  hold  you,'  replied  the  farmer ; 
'  so  you  had  better  troop  off,  bag  and  baggage  ;  for  I  am 
overseer,  and  as  you  are  sickly,  it  is  my  duty  not  to  let  any 
vagabonds  stay  in  the  parish  who  are  likely  to  become 
chargeable.' 

"  By  the  time  my  husband  returned  home,  for  he  found 
it  too  late  to  go  to  church,  I  had  got  our  little  dinner  ready  : 
it  was  a  better  one  than  we  had  for  a  long  while  been  accus- 
tomed to  see,  and  I  was  unusually  cheerful  at  this  improve- 
ment in  our  circumstances.  I  saw  his  eyes  full  of  tears ; 
and  oh!  with  what  pain  did  he  bring  himself  to  tell  me 
that  it  was  the  last  dinner  we  must  ever  eat  in  that  house ! 
1  took  his  hand  with  a  smile,  and  only  said,  *  The  Lord 
gave,  and  the  Lord  taketh  away,  blessed  be  the  name  o 
the  Lord.' 

"  'Notwithstanding  this  sudden  stroke  of  injustice,'  said 
my  husband,  '  this  is  still  a  happy  country.  Our  employer, 
it  is  true,  may  turn  us  out  at  a  moment's  notice,  because 


13 

the  cottage  is  his  own ;  but  he  has  no  further  power  over 
us ;  he  cannot  confine  or  punish  us.  His  riches,  it  is  true, 
give  him  power  to  insult,  but  not  to  oppress  us.  The  same 
laws  to  which  the  affluent  resort,  protect  us  also.  And  as 
to  our  being  driven  out  from  a  cottage,  how  many  persons 
of  the  highest  rank  have  lately  been  driven  out  from  their 
palaces  and  castles ;  persons,  too,  born  in  a  station  which 
we  never  enjoyed,  and  used  to  all  the  indulgences  of  that 
rank  and  wealth  we  never  knew,  and  at  this  moment  wan- 
dering over  the  face  of  the  earth  without  a  house  and  with- 
out bread,  exiles  and  beggars  ;  while  we,  blessed  be  God, 
are  in  our  own  native  land  ;  we  have  still  our  liberty,  oui 
limbs,  the  protection  of  just  and  equal  laws,  our  churches, 
our  Bibles,  and  our  Sabbaths.' 

"  This  happy  state  of  my  husband's  mind  hushed  my 
sorrows,  and  I  never  once  murmured  ;  nay,  I  sat  down  to 
dinner  with  a  degree  of  cheerfulness,  endeavoring  to  cast 
all  our  care  on  <  Him  that  careth  for  us.'  We  had  begged 
to  stay  till  the  next  morning,  as  Sunday  was  not  the  day  on 
which  we  liked  to  remove  ;  but  we  were  ordered  not  to 
sleep  another  night  in  that  house  ;  so,  as  we  had  little  to 
carry,  we  marched  off  in  the  evening  to  the  poor  lodging 
we  had  before  occupied.  The  thought  that  my  husband 
had  cheerfully  renounced  his  little  all  for  conscience'  sake, 
gave  an  unspeakable  serenity  to  my  mind  ;  and  I  felt  thank- 
ful, that,  though  cast  down,  we  were  not  forsaken  ;  nay,  I 
felt  a  lively  gratitude  to  God,  that  while  I  doubted  not  he 
would  accept  this  little  sacrifice,  as  it  was  heartily  made 
for  his  sake,  he  had  graciously  forborne  to  call  us  to  greater 
trials." 

"  And  so  you  were  turned  adrift  once  more  ?  Well, 
ma'am,  saving  your  presence,  I  hope  you  won't  be  such  a 

fool  as  to  say  all  was  for  the  best  now." 

7* 


14 

"  Yes,  Betty,  He  who  does  all  things  well,  now  made 
his  kind  providence  more  manifest  than  ever.  That  very 
night,  while  we  were  sweetly  sleeping  in  our  poor  lodging, 
the  pretty  cottage  out  of  which  we  were  so  unkindly  driven 
was  burned  to  the  ground  by  a  flash  of  lightning,  which 
caught  the  thatch  and  so  completely  consumed  the  whole 
little  building,  that  had  it  not  been  for  that  merciful  Provi- 
dence who  thus  overruled  the  cruelty  of  the  farmer  for  the 
preservation  of  our  lives,  we  might  have  been  burned  to 
ashes  with  the  house.  '  It  was  the  Lord's  doing,  and  it  was 
marvellous  in  our  eyes.'  *  0  that  men  would  praise  the 
Lord  for  his  goodness,  and  for  his  wonderful  works  to  the 
children  of  men !' 

"  I  will  not  tell  you  all  the  trials  and  afflictions  which 
befell  us  afterwards.  I  would  also  spare  my  heart  the  sad 
story  of  my  husband's  death." 

"  Well,  that  was  another  blessing,  too,  I  suppose,"  said 
Betty. 

"  O,  it  was  the  severest  trial  ever  sent  me,"  replied  Mrs. 
Simpson,  a  few  tears  quietly  stealing  down  her  face.  "  I 
almost  sunk  under  it.  Nothing  but  the  abundant  grace  of 
God  could  have  carried  me  through  such  a  visitation ;  and 
yet  1  now  feel  it  to  be  the  greatest  mercy  I  ever  experienced. 
He  was  my  idol ;  no  trouble  ever  came  near  my  heart 
while  he  was  with  me.  I  got  more  credit  than  I  deserved 
for  my  patience  under  trials,  which  were  easily  borne  while 
he  who  shared  and  lightened  them  was  spared  to  me.  1 
had,  indeed,  prayed  and  struggled  to  be  weaned  from  the 
world  ;  but  still  my  affection  for  him  tied  me  down  to  earth 
%vith  a  strong  cord  ;  and  though  I  earnestly  tried  to  keep 
my  eyes  fixed  on  the  eternal  world,  yet  I  viewed  it  with  too 
feeble  a  faith  ;  I  viewed  it  at  too  great  a  distance.  I  found 
it  difficult  to  realize  it.  I  had  deceived  myself.  I  had  fan- 
cied that  I  bore  my  troubles  so  well  from  the  pure  love  of 


'tis  all  for  the  best.  15 

God ;  but  I  have  since  found  that  my  love  for  my  husband 
had  too  great  a  share  in  reconciling  me  to  every  difficulty 
which  I  underwent  for  him.  I  lost  him ;  the  charm  was 
broken  ;  the  cord  which  tied  me  down  to  earth  was  cut : 
this  world  had  nothing  left  to  engage  me ;  Heaven  had 
now  no  rival  in  my  heart.  Though  my  love  of  God  was 
before  sincere,  yet  I  found  there  wantea  »his  blow  to  make 
it  more  perfect.  But  though  all  that  had  made  life  pleasant 
to  me  was  gone,  I  did  not  sink  as  those  who  have  no  hope. 
I  prayed  that  I  might  still,  in  this  trying  conflict,  be  ena- 
bled to  adorn  the  doctrine  of  God  my  Saviour. 

"  After  many  more  hardships,  I  was  at  length  so  happy 
as  to  get  an  asylum  in  this  almshouse.  Here  my  cares 
are  at  an  end,  but  not  my  duties/' 

"  Now  you  are  wrong  again,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Betty ; 
'*'  your  duty  is  now  to  take  care  of  yourself;  for  I  am  sure 
you  have  nothing  to  spare." 

"  There  you  are  mistaken  again,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson. 
"  People  are  so  apt  to  fancy  that  money  is  all  in  all,  that  all 
the  other  gifts  of  Providence  are  overlooked  as  things  of 
no  value.  I  have  here  a  great  deal  of  leisure  ;  a  good 
part  of  this  I  devote  to  the  wants  of  those  who  are  more 
distressed  than  myself.  I  work  a  little  for  the  old,  and  I 
instruct  the  young.  My  eyes  are  good ;  this  enables  me 
to  read  the  Bible  both  to  those  whose  sight  is  decayed  and 
to  those  who  were  never  taught  to  read.  I  have  tolerable 
health,  so  that  I  am  able  occasionally  to  sit  up  with  tht 
sick ;  in  the  intervals  of  nursing  I  can  pray  with  them. 
Jn  my  younger  days  I  thought  it  not  much  to  sit  up  late 
for  my  pleasure ;  shall  I  now  think  much  of  sitting  up, 
now  and  then,  to  watch  by  a  dying  bed?  My  Saviour 
waked  and  watched  for  me  in  the  garden  and  on  the 
mount ;  and  shall  I  do  nothing  for  his  suffering  members  1 
It  is  only  by  keeping  his  sufferings  in  view  that  we  can 


16  'tis  all  for  the  best. 

truly  practise  charity  to  others,  or  exercise  self-denial  to 
ourselves." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Betty,  "  I  think  if  I  had  lived  in  such 
genteel  life  as  you  have  done,  I  could  never  be  reconciled 
to  an  almshouse ;  and  I  am  afraid  I  should  never  forgive 
any  of  those  who  were  the  cause  of  sending  me  there,  par 
ticularly  that  farmer  Thomas,  who  turned  you  out  of 
doors." 

"Betty,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  "I  not  only  forgive  him 
heartily,  but  I  remember  him  in  my  prayers  as  one  of 
those  instruments  with  which  it  has  pleased  God  to  work 
for  my  good.  O  never  put  off  forgiveness  to  a  dying  bed ! 
When  people  come  to  die,  we  often  see  how  the  conscience 
is  troubled  with  sins,  of  which  before  they  hardly  felt  the 
existence.  How  ready  are  they  to  make  restitution  of  ill- 
gotten  gain  ;  and  this  perhaps  for  two  reasons :  from  a  feel- 
ing conviction  that  it  can  be  of  no  use  to  them  where  they 
are  going,  as  well  as  from  a  near  view  of  their  own  re- 
sponsibility. We  also  hear  from  the  most  hardened,  of 
death-bed  forgiveness  of  enemies.  Even  malefactors  at 
Tyburn  forgive.  'But  why  must  we  wait  for  a  dying  bed, 
to  do  what  ought  to  be  done  now  1  Believe  me,  that  scene 
will  be  so  full  of  terror  and  amazement  to  the  soul,  that  we 
need  not  load  it  with  unnecessary  business." 

Just  as  Mrs.  Simpson  was  saying  these  words,  a  letter 
was  brought  her  from  the  minister  of  the  parish  where  the 
farmer  lived,  by  whom  Mr.  Simpson  had  been  turned  out 
of  his  cottage.     The  letter  was  as  follows : 

"  Madam — I  write  to  tell  you  that  your  old  oppressor, 
Mr.  Thomas,  is  dead.  1  attended  him  in  his  last  moments. 
O  may  my  latter  end  never  be  like  his  !  I  shall  not  soon 
forget  his  despair  at  the  approach  of  death.     His  riches. 


17 

which  had  been  his  sole  joy,  now  doubled  his  sorrows ;  for 
he  was  going  where  they  could  be  of  no  use  to  him ;  and 
he  found,  too  late,  that  he  had  laid  up  no  treasure  in  heaven. 
He  felt  great  concern  at  his  past  life,  but  for  nothing  more 
han  his  unkindness  to  Mr.  Simpson.  He  charged  me  tc 
find  you  out,  and  let  you  know,  that  by  his  will  he  be- 
queathed you  five  hundred  pounds,  as  some  compensation. 
He  died  in  great  agonies,  declaring  with  his  last  breath, 
that  if  ne  could  live  his  life  over  again,  he  would  serve  God, 
and  strictly  observe  the  Sabbath.     Yours,  &c. 

"J.  Johnson." 

Mrs.  Betty,  who  had  listened  attentively  to  the  letter, 
jumped  up,  clapped  her  hands,  and  cried  out,  "Now  all  is 
for  the  best,  and  I  shall  see  you  a  lady  once  more." 

"  I  am  indeed  thankful  for  this  mercy,"  said  Mrs.  Simp- 
son, "  and  am  glad  that  riches  were  not  sent  me  till  I  had 
learned,  as  I  humbly  hope,  to  make  a  right  use  of  them. 
But  come,  let  us  go  in,  for  I  am  very  cold,  and  find  I  have 
sat  too  long  in  the  night  air." 

Betty  was  now  ready  enough  to  acknowledge  the  hand 
of  Providence  in  this  prosperous  event,  though  she  was 
blind  to  it  when  the  dispensation  was  more  dark.  Next 
morning  she  went  early  to  visit  Mrs.  Simpson,  but  not  see- 
ing her  below,  she  went  up  stairs,  where,  to  her  great  sor- 
row, she  found  her  confined  to  her  bed  by  a  fever,  caught 
the  night  before  by  sitting  so  late  on  the  bench,  reading  the 
letter  and  talking  it  over. 

Betty  was  now  more  ready  to  cry  out  against  Provi- 
dence than  ever.  "  What !  to  catch  a  fever  while  you 
were  reading  that  very  letter  which  told  you  about  your 
good  fortune,  which  would  have  enabled  you  to  live  like  a 
lady,  as   you  are !     I  never  will  believe  this  is  for  the 


L8  'tis  all  for  the  best. 

best;  to  be  deprived  of  life  just  as  you  were  beginning  to 
enjoy  it !" 

"  Betty,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  "  we  must  learn  not  to 
rate  health,  nor  life  itself,  too  highly.  There  is  little  in 
life,  for  its  own  sake,  to  be  fond  of.  As  a  good  archbishop 
used  to  say,  'tis  but  the  same  thing  over  again,  or  probably 
worse ;  so  many  more  nights  and  days,  summers  and  win- 
ters ;  a  repetition  of  the  same  pleasuresj  but  with  less  relish 
for  them ;  a  return  of  the  same,  or  greater  pains,  but  with 
less  strength,  and  perhaps  less  patience  to  bear  them." 

"  Well,"  replied  Betty,  "  I  did  think  that  Providence 
was  at  last  giving  you  your  reward." 

"Reward!"  cried  Mrs.  Simpson,  "  O  no !  my  merciful 
Father  will  not  put  me  off  with  so  poor  a  portion  as  wealth  ; 
I  feel  I  shall  die." 

"  It  is  very  hard,  indeed,"  said  Betty,  "  so  good  as  you 
are,  to  be  taken  ofFjust  as  prosperity  was  beginning." 

"  You  think  I  am  good  just  now,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson, 
"  because  I  am  prosperous.  Success  is  no  sure  mark  of 
God's  favor ;  at  this  rate,  you,  who  judge  by  outward  things, 
would  have  thought  Herod  a  better  man  than  John  the 
Baptist ;  and  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  so,  you,  on  the 
principle  that  the  sufferer  is  a  sinner,  would  have  be- 
lieved Pontius  Pilate  higher  in  God's  favor  than  the  Sav- 
iour, whom  he  condemned  to  die  for  your  sins  and  mine." 

In  a  few  days  Mrs.  Betty  found  that  her  new  friend  was 
dying,  and  though  she  was  struck  at  her  resignation,  she 
could  not  forbear  murmuring  that  so  good  a  woman  should 
be  taken  away  at  the  very  instant  when  she  came  into 
possession  of  so  much  money. 

"  Betty,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  in  a  feeble  voice,  "  I  be- 
lieve you  love  me  dearly,  you  would  do  anything  to  cure 
me ;  yet  you  do  not  love  me  so  well  as  God  loves  me, 
though  you  would  raise  me  up,  and  he  is  putting  a  period 


19 

to  my  life.  He  has  never  sent  me  a  single  stroke  which 
was  not  absolutely  necessary  for  me.  You,  if  you  could 
restore  me,  might  be  laying  me  open  to  some  temptation 
from  which  God,  by  removing,  will  deliver  me.  Your 
kindness  in  making  this  world  so  smooth  for  me,  I  might 
for  ever  have  deplored  in  a  world  of  misery.  God?s  grace, 
in  afflicting  me,  will  hereafter  be  the  subject  of  my  praises 
in  a  world  of  blessedness.  Betty,"  added  the  dying  wo- 
man, "do  you  really  think  that  I  am  going  to  a  place  of 
rest  and  joy  eternal  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  do,"  said  Betty. 

"  Do  you  firmly  believe  that  I  am  going  to  the  '  assem- 
bly of  the  first-born ;  to  the  spirits  of  just  men  made  per 
feet ;  to  God  the  Judge  of  all ;  and  to  Jesus  the  Mediator 
of  the  new  covenant  V  " 

"  I  am  sure  you  are,"  said  Betty. 

"  And  yet,"  resumed  she.  "  you  would  detain  me  from 
all  this  happiness ;  and  you  think  my  merciful  Father  is 
using  me  unkindly  by  removing  me  from  a  world  of  sin, 
and  sorrow,  and  temptation,  to  such  joys  as  have  not  en- 
tered into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive ;  while  it  would 
have  better  suited  your  notions  of  reward  to  defer  my  en- 
trance into  the  blessedness  of  heaven,  that  I  might  have 
enjoyed  a  legacy  of  a  few  hundred  pounds !  Believe  my 
dying  words — all  is  for  the  best." 

Mrs.  Simpson  expired  soon  after,  in  a  frame  of  mind 
which  convinced  her  new  friend  that  God's  ways  are  not 
as  our  ways. 


20  'tis  all  for  the  best. 


God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way, 

His  wonders  to  perform ; 
He  plants  his  footsteps  in  the  sea, 

And  rides  upon  the  storm. 

Deep  in  unfathomable  mines 

Of  never-failing  skill, 
He  treasures  up  his  bright  designs, 

And  works  his  sovereign  will. 

Ye  fearful  saints,  fresh  courage  ta*e ; 

The  clouds  ye  so  much  dread 
Are  big  with  mercy,  and  shall  break 

In  blessings  on  your  head. 

Judge  not  the  Lord  by  feeble  sense, 

But  trust  him  for  his  grace ; 
Behind  a  frowning  Providence 

He  hides  a  smiling  face. 

His  purposes  will  ripen  fast, 

Unfolding  every  hour ; 
The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste. 

But  sweet  will  be  the  flower. 

Blind  unbelief  is  sure  to  err, 

And  scan  his  work  in  vain ; 
God  is  his  own  interpreter, 

And  he  will  make  it  plain.  Cowper. 


NARRATIVE   IV, 


PARLEY  THE  PORTER, 


BY  MRS.  HANNAH  MORE. 


HERE  was  once  a  certain 
gentleman  who  had  a  house, 
or  castle,  situated  in  the 
midst  of  a  great  wilderness, 
but  enclosed  in  a  garden. 
Now,  there  was  a  band  of 
robbers  in  the  wilderness, 
who  had  a  great  mind  to 
plunder  and  destroy  the  cas- 
tle ;  but  they  had  not  succeed^,  in  their  endeavors,  because 
the  master  had  given  strict  orders  to  "  tvatch  without  ceas- 

Eleg.  Nar.  8 


K  PARLEY    THE    PORTER. 

ing."  To  quicken  their  vigilance,  he  used  to  tell  them 
that  their  care  would  soon  have  an  end  ;  that  though  the 
nights  they  had  to  watch  were  dark  and  stormy,  yet  they 
were  but  few  ;  the  period  of  resistance  was  short — that  of 
rest,  eternal. 

The  robbers,  however,  attacked  the  castle  in  various 
ways.  They  tried  at  every  avenue ;  watched  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  every  careless  moment ;  looked  for  an  open 
door,  or  a  neglected  window.  But  though  they  often  made 
the  bolts  shake,  and  the  windows  rattle,  they  could  never 
greatly  hurt  the  house,  much  less  get  into  it.  Do  you 
know  the  reason  ?  It  was  because  the  servants  were  never 
off  their  guard.  They  heard  the  noises  plain  enough,  and 
used  to  be  not  a  little  frightened,  for  they  were  aware  both 
of  the  strength  and  perseverance  of  the  enemy.  But  what 
seemed  rather  odd  to  some  of  these  servants — the  gen- 
tleman used  to  tell  them,  that  while  they  continued  to 
be  afraid,  they  would  be  safe;  and  it  passed  into  a  sort 
of  proverb  in  that  family,  "  Happy  is  he  that  feareth 
always."  Some  of  the  servants,  however,  thought  this  a 
contradiction. 

One  day  when  the  master  was  going  from  home,  he 
called  his  servants  all  together,  and  spoke  to  them  as  fol- 
lows :  "  I  will  not  repeat  to  you  the  directions  I  have  so 
often  given  you ;  they  are  all  written  down  in  the  book 
of  laws,  of  which  every  one  of  you  has  -a  copy.  Re- 
member, it  is  a  very  short  time  that  you  are  to  remain  in 
this  castle ;  you  will  soon  remove  to  my  more  settled  hab- 
itation, to  a  more  durable  house,  not  made  with  hands. 
As  that  house  is  never  exposed  to  an  attack,  so  it  never 
stands  in  need  of  any  repair^  for  that  country  is  never  in- 
fested by  any  sons  of  violence.     Here  you  are  servants ; 


PARLEY    THE   PORTER.  3 

there  you  will,  be  princes.  But  mark  my  words,  and  you 
will  find  the  same  truth  in  the  book  of  my  laws  :  Whether 
you  will  ever  attain  to  that  house,  will  depend  on  the  man- 
ner in  which  you  defend  yourselves  in  this.  A  stout  vigi- 
lance for  a  short  time,  will  secure  you  certain  happiness 
for  ever.  But  everything  depends  on  your  present  exer- 
tions. Don't  complain,  and  take  advantage  of  my  absence, 
and  call  me  a  hard  master,  and  grumble  that  you  are 
placed  in  the  midst  of  a  howling  wilderness  without  peace 
or  security.  Say  not,  that  you  are  exposed  to  temptations 
without  power  to  resist  them.  You  have  some  difficulties, 
it  is  true  ;  but  you  have  many  helps,  and  many  comforts  to 
make  this  house  tolerable,  even  before  you  get  to  the  other. 
Yours  is  not  a  hard  service  ;  and  if  it  were,  '  the  time  is 
short.'  You  have  arms,  if  you  will  use  them  ;  and  doors, 
if  you  will  bar  them;  and  strength,  if  .you  will  use  it.  I 
would  defy  all  the  attacks  of  the  robbers  without,  if  I  could 
depend  on  the  fidelity  of  the  people  within.  If  the  thieves 
ever  get  in  and  destroy  the  house,  it  must  be  by  the  con- 
nivance of  one  of  the  family.  For  mere  outward  attack 
can  never  destroy  this  castle,  if  there  he  no  traitor  within. 
You.  will  stand  or  fall,  as  you  regard  this  fact.  If  you  are 
finally  happy,  it  will  be  by  my  grace  and  favor  ;  if  you 
are  ruined,  it  will  be  your  own  fault." 

When  the  gentleman  had  done  speaking,  every  servant 
repeated  his  assurance  of  attachment  and  firm  allegiance 
to  his  master.  But  among  them  all,  not  one  was  so  vehe- 
ment and  loud  in  his  professions  as  old  Parley,  the  Porter- 
Parley,  indeed, -it  was  well  known,  was  always  talking, 
which  exposed  him  to  no  small  danger;  for  as  he  was  the 
foremost  to  promise,  so  he  was  the  slackest  to  perform. 
And,  to  speak  the  truth,  though  he  was  a  civil-spoken  fel. 


4  PARLEY    THE    PORTER. 

low,  his  master  was  more  afraid  of  him,  with  all  his  pro- 
fessions, than  he  was  of  the  rest  who  professed  less.  He 
knew  that  Parley  was  vain,  credulous,  and  self-sufficient ; 
and  he  always  apprehended  more  danger  from  Parley's 
impertinence,  curiosity,  and  love  of  novelty,  than  even 
from  the  stronger  vices  of  some  of  his  other  servants. 
The  rest,  indeed,  seldom  got  into  any  difficulty  of  which 
Parley  was  not  the  cause,  in  some  shape  or  other. 

I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  confess,  that  though  Parley 
was  allowed  every  refreshment,  and  all  the  needful  rest 
which  the  nature  of  his  place  permitted,  yet  he  thought  it 
very  hard  to  be  forced  to  be  so  constantly  on  duty.  "  No- 
thing but  watching,"  said  Parley ;  "  I  have,  to  be  sure, 
many  pleasures,  and  meat  sufficient,  and  plenty  of  chat  in 
virtue  of  my  office ;  and  I  pick  up  a  good-  deal  of  news  of 
the  comers  and  goers  by  day ;  but  it  is  hard  that  at  night  I 
must  watch  as  narrowly  as  a  Jiouse-dog,  and  yet  let  in  no 
company  without  orders,  only  because  there  are  said  to  be 
a  few  straggling  robbers  here  in  the  wilderness,  with  whom 
my  master  does  not  care  to  let  us  be  acquainted.  He  pre- 
tends to  make  us  vigilant  through  fear  of  the  robbers ;  but 
I  suspect  it  is  only  to  make  us  mope  alone.  A  merry 
companion,  and  a  mug  of  beer,  would  make  the  night  pass 
cheerly."  Parley,  however,  kept  all  these  thoughts  to 
himself,  or  uttered  them  only  when  no  one  heard  ;  for  talk 
he  must.  He  began  to  listen  to  the  nightly  whistling  ot 
the  robbers  under  the  windows,  with  rather  less  alarm  than 
formerly ;  and  was  sometimes  so  tired  of  watching,  that  he 
thought  it  was  even  better  to  run  the  risk  of  being  robbed 
once,  than  to  live  always  in  fear  of  robbers. 

There  were  certain  bounds  in  which  the  gentleman 
allowed  his  servants  to  walk  and  divert  themselves  at  all 


PARLEY    THE    PORTER.  O 

proper  seasons.  A  pleasant  garden  surrounded  the  castle, 
and  a  thick  hedge  separated  this  garden  from  the  wilder- 
ness which  was  infested  by  the  robbers,  in  which  they  were 
permitted  to  amuse  themselves.  The  master  advised  them 
always  to  keep  within  these  bounds.  "  While  you  observe 
this  rule,"  said  he,  "  you  will  be  safe,  and  well ;  and  you 
will  consult  your  own  safety,  as  well  as  show  your  love  to 
me,  by  not  venturing  even  to  the  extremity  of  your  bounds. 
He  who  goes  as  far  as  he  dares,  always  shows  a  wish  to  go 
farther  than  he  ought,  and  commonly  does  so." 

It  was  remarkable,  that  the  nearer  these  servants  kept 
to  the  castle,  and  the  farther  from  the  hedge,  the  more  ugly 
the  wilderness  appeared.  And  the  nearer  they  approached 
the  forbidden  bounds,  their  own  home  appeared  more  dull, 
and  the  wilderness  more  delightful.  And  this  the  master 
knew  when  he  gave  his  orders ;  for  he  never  either  did  or 
said  anything  without  a  good  reason.  And  when  his  ser- 
vants sometimes  desired  an  explanation  of  the  reason,  he 
used  to  tell  them  they  would  understand  it  when  they  came 
to  the  other  house  ;  for  it  was  one  of  the  pleasures  of  that 
house,  that  it  would  explain  all  the  mysteries  of  this  ;  and 
any  little  obscurities  in  the  master's  conduct,  would  then 
be  made  quite  plain. 

Parley  was  the  first  that  promised  to  keep  clear  of  the 
hedge;  and  yet  was  often  seen  looking  as  near  it  as  he 
dared.  One  day  he  ventured  close  up  to  the  hedge,  put 
two  or  three  stones  one  on  another,  and  tried  to  peep  over. 
He  saw  one  of  the  robbers  strolling  as  near  as  could  be 
on  the  forbidden  side.  This  man's  name  was  Flatter- 
well,  a  smooth,  civil  man,  whose  words  were  softer  than 
butter,  having  war  in  his  heart.     He   made  several  low 

bows  to  Parley. 

8* 


6  PARLEY    THE    PORTER. 

Now  Parley  knew  so  little  of  the  world,  that  he  ac- 
tually concluded  all  robbers  must  have  an  ugly  look,  which 
should  frighten  you  at  once ;  and  coarse,  brutal  manners, 
which  would  at  first  sight  show  they  were  enemies.  He 
bought,  like  a  poor  ignorant  fellow  as  he  was,  that  this  mild, 
pecious  person  could  not  be  one  of  the  band.  Flatterwell 
accosted  Parley  with  the  utmost  civility,  which  put  him 
quite  off  his  guard  ;  for  Parley  had  no  notion  that  he  could 
be  an  enemy,  who  was  so  soft  and  civil.  For  an  open  foe, 
he  would  have  been  prepared.  Parley,  however,  after  a 
little  discourse,  drew  this  conclusion,  either  that  Mr.  Flat- 
terwell could  not  be  one  of  the  gang,  or  that,  if  he  was, 
the  robbers  themselves  could  not  be  such  monsters  as  his 
master  had  described  ;  and  therefore  it  was  folly  to  be 
afraid  of  them. 

Flatterwell  began,  like  a  true  adept  in  his  art,  by  lull- 
ing all  Parley's  suspicions  asleep  ;  and  instead  of  openly 
abusing  his  master,  which  would  have  opened  Parley's 
eyes  at  once,  he  pretended  rather  to  commend  him  in  a 
general  way,  as  a  person  who  meant  well  himself,  but 
was  too  apt  to  suspect  others.  To  this  Parley  assented. 
The  other  then  ventured  to  hint  by  degrees,  that  though 
the  gentleman  might  be  a  good  master  in  the  main,  yet  he 
must  say  he  was  a  little  strict,  and  a  little  stingy,  and  not  a 
little  censorious.  That  he  was  blamed  by  the  gentlemen  in 
the  wilderness  for  shutting  his  house  against  good  company ; 
and  his  servants  were  laughed  at  by  people  of  spirit,  for 
ubmitting  to  the  gloomy  life  of  the  castle,  and  the  insipid 
pleasures  of  the  garden,  instead  of  ranging  in  the  wilder- 
ness at  large. 

"  It  is  true  enough,"  said  Parley,  who  was  generally 
of  the  opinion  of  the  person  he  was  talking  with,  "mj 


PARLEY    THE    PORTER. 


master  is  rather  harsh  and  close.  But,  to  own  the  truth, 
all  the  barring,  and  locking,  and  bolting,  is  to  keep  out  a 
set  of  gentlemen,  who,  he  assures  us,  are  robbers,  and  who 
are  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  destroy  us.  I  hope,  no 
offence,  sir,  but  by  your  livery,  I  suspect  you,  sir,  are  one 
of  the  gang  he  is  so  much  afraid  of.5' 

FlatterwelL  Afraid  of  me  ?  Impossible,  dear  Mr.  Par 
ley.  You  see  I  do  not  look  like  an  enemy.  I  am  unarm- 
ed :  what  harm  can  a  plain  man  like  me  do  ? 

Parley.  Why,  that  is  true  enough.  Yet  my  master 
says,  that  if  we  were  once  to  let  you  into  the  house,  we 
should  be  ruined,  soul  and  body. 

FlatterwelL  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Parley,  that  so  sensible  a 
man  as  you  are  so  deceived.  This  is  mere  prejudice. 
He  knows  we  are  a  cheerful,  entertaining  people ;  foes  to 
gloom  and  superstition ;  and  therefore,  he  is  so  morose,  he 
will  not  let  you  get  acquainted  with  us. 

Parley.  Well,  he  says  you  are  a  band  of  thieves, 
gamblers,  murderers,  drunkards,  and  atheists. 

FlatterwelL  Don't  believe  him ;  the  worst  we  should 
do,  perhaps,  is,  we  might  drink  a  friendly  glass  with  you  to 
your  master's  health  ;  or  play  an  innocent  game  of  cards 
just  to  keep  you  awake,  or  sing  a  cheerful  song  with  the 
maids :  now  is  there  any  harm  in  all  this  ? 

Parley.  Not  the  least  in  the  world.  And  I  begin 
to  think  there  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  all  my  master 
says. 

FlatterwelL  The  more  you  know  us,  the  more  you 
will  like  us.  But  I  wish  there  was  not  this  ugly  hedge 
between  us.  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say,  and  am  afraid  of 
being  overheard. 

Parley  was  now  just  going  to  give  a  spring  over  the 


8  PARLEY    THE    PORTER. 

hedge,  but  checked  himself,  saying,  "I  dare  not  come  on 
your  side,  there  are  people  about,  and  every  thing  is  car- 
ried to  my  master."  Flatterwell  saw  by  this,  that  his 
new  friend  was  kept  on  his  own  side  of  the  hedge  by  fear, 
rather  than  by  principle,  and  from  that  moment  he  made 
sure  of  him. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Parley,"  said  he,  "  if  you  will  allow  me 
the  honor  of  a  little  conversation  with  you,  1  will  qall 
under  the  window  of  your  lodge  this  evening.  I  have 
something  to  tell  you  greatly  to  your  advantage.  I  admire 
you  exceedingly.  I  long  for  your  friendship  ;  our  whole 
brotherhood  is  ambitious  of  being  known  to  so  amiable 
a  person." 

"  O  dear,"  said  Parley,  "  I  shall  be  afraid  of  talk- 
ing to  you  at  night,  it  is  so  against  my  master's  orders. 
But  did  you  say  you  had  something  to  tell  me  to  my  ad- 
vantage ?" 

Flatterwell.  Yes,  I  can  point  out  to  you  how  you  may 
be  a  richer,  a  merrier,  and  a  happier  man.  If  you  will 
admit  me  to-night  under  the  window,  I  will  convince  you 
that  'tis  prejudice  and  not  wisdom  which  makes  your  mas- 
ter bar  his  door  against  us ;  I  will  convince  you  that  the 
mischief  of  a  roller,  as  your  master  scurrilously  calls  us, 
is  only  in  the  name  ;  that  we  are  your  true  friends,  and 
only  mean  to  promote  your  happiness. 

"  Don't  say  we"  said  Parley,  "  pray  come  alone,  I 
would  not  see  the  rest  of  the  gang  for  the  world ;  but 
think  there  can  be  no  great  harm  in  talking  to  you  through 
the  bars,  if  you  come  alone ;  but  I  am  determined  not  to 
let  you  in.  Yet  I  can't  say  but  I  wish  to  know  what  you 
can  tell  me  so  much  to  my  advantage ;  indeed,  if  it  is  for 
my  good,  I  ought  to  know  it." 


PARLEY    THE    PORTER.  9 

Flatterwell.  {Going  out,  turns  back.)  Dear  Mr.  Parley, 
ehere  is  one  thing  I  had  forgot.  I  cannot  get  over  the 
hedge  at  night  without  assistance.  You  know  there  is  a 
secret  in  the  nature  of  that  hedge  ;  you  in  the  house  may 
get  over  to  us  in  the  wilderness,  of  your  own  accord  ;  but 
we  cannot  get  to  your  side  by  our  own  strength.  You 
must  look  about  to  see  where  the  hedge  is  thinnest,  and 
then  set  to  work  to  clear  away  here  and  there  a  little 
bough  for  me  ;  it  wont  be  missed  ;  and  if  there  is  but  the 
smallest  hole  made  on  your  side,  those  on  ours  can  get 
through ;  otherwise  we  do  but  labor  in  vain.  To  this 
Parley  made  some  objection,  through  the  fear  of  being 
seen.  Flatterwell  replied,  that  the  smallest  hole  from 
within  would  be  sufficient,  for  he  could  then  work  his  own 
way.  "  Well,"  said  Parley,  "  I  will  consider  of  it.  To 
be  sure  I  shall  even  then  be  equally  safe  in  the  castle,  as  I 
shall  have  all  the  bolts,  bars,  and  locks  between  us,  so  it 
will  make  but  little  difference." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Flatterwell,  who  knew  it  would 
make  all  the  difference  in  the  world.  So  they  parted,  with 
mutual  protestations  of  regard.  Parley  went  home,  charm- 
ed with  his  new  friend.  His  eyes  were  now  clearly  opened 
as  to  his  master's  prejudices  against  the  robbers;  and  he 
was  convinced  there  was  more  in  the  name,  than  in  the 
thing.  "But,"  said  he,  "though  Mr.  Flatterwell  is  cer- 
tainly an  agreeable  companion,  he  may  not  be  so  safe  an 
inmate.  There  can,  however,  be  no  harm  in  talking  at  a 
distance,  and  I  certainly  wont  let  him  in." 

Parley,  in  the   course   of  the  day,   did  not   forget  his 

promise  to  thin  the  hedge  of  separation  a  little.    At  first  he 

only  tore  off  a  handful  of  leaves,  then  a  little  sprig,  then 

he  broke  away  a  bough  or  two.     It  was  observable,  the 
vol.  t.  iq 


10  PARLEY    THE    POKTER. 

larger  the  breach  became,  the  worse  he  began  to  think  of 
his  master,  and  the  better  of  himself.  Every  peep  he 
took  through  the  broken  hedge,  increased  his  desire  to  get 
out  into  the  wilderness,  and  made  the  thoughts  of  the  castle 
more  irksome  to  him. 

He  was  continually  repeating  to  himself,  "  I  wonder 
what  Mr.  Flatterwell  can  have  to  say  so  much  to  my  ad- 
vantage. I  see  he  does  not  wish  to  hurt  my  master,  he 
only  wishes  to  serve  me."  As  the  hour  of  meeting,  how- 
ever, drew  near,  the  master's  orders  now  and  then  came 
across  Parley's  thoughts.  So  to  divert  them,  he  took  the 
book.  He  happened  to  open  it  at  these  words,  "  My  son, 
if  sinners  entice  thee,  consent  thou  not."  For  a  moment 
his  heart  failed  him.  "  If  this  admonition  should  be  sent 
on  purpose,"  said  he, — "  but  no,  'tis  a  bugbear.  My  mas- 
ter told  me  that,  if  I  went  to  the  bounds,  I  should  get  ovei 
the  hedge.  Now,  I  went  to  the  utmost  limits,  and  did  not 
get  over."  'Here  conscience  put  in,  "  Yes,  but  it  was  be- 
cause you  were  watched."  "  I  am  sure,"  continued  Par- 
ley, "  one  may  always  stop  where  one  will ;  and  this  is 
only  a  trick  of  my  master's  to  spoil  sport ;  so  I  will  even 
hear  what  Mr.  Flatterwell  has  to  say  so  much  to  my  ad- 
vantage. I  am  not  obliged  to  follow  his  counsels,  but  there 
can  be  no  harm  in  hearing  them." 

Flatterwell  prevailed  on  the  rest  of  the  robbers  to  make 
no  public  attack  on  the  castle  that  night. 

"  My  brethren,"  said  he,  "  you  now  and  then  fail  in 
your  schemes,  because  you  are  for  violent  beginnings 
while  my  soothing,  insinuating  measures,  hardly  ever  miss. 
You  come  blustering,  and  roaring,  and  frighten  people,  and 
set  them  on  their  guard.  You  inspire  them  with  terror  of 
you,  while  my  whole  scheme  is,  to  make  them  think  well  of 


PARLEY    THE    PORTER.  13 

Uiemsehes,  and  ill  of  their  master.  If  I  once  get  them  to 
entertain  hard  thoughts  of  him,  and  high  thoughts  of  them- 
selves, my  business  is  done,  and  they  fall  plump  into  my 
snares.  So  let  this  delicate  affair  alone  to  me.  Parley  is 
a  softly  fellow,  he  must  not  be  frightened,  but  cajoled.  He 
is  the  very  sort  of  man  to  succeed  with,  and  worth  a  hun- 
dred of  your  sturdy,  sensible  fellows.  With  them  we 
want  strong  arguments,  and  strong  temptations ;  but  with 
such  fellows  as  Parley,  in  whom  vanity  and  sensuality  are 
the  leading  qualities,  (as,  let  me  tell  you,  is  the  case  with 
far  the  greater  part,)  flattery,  and  the  promise  of  ease  and 
pleasure,  will  do  more  than  your  whole  battle  array.  If 
you  will  let  me  manage,  I  will  get  you  all  into  the  castle 
before  midnight." 

At  night  the  castle  was  barricaded  as  usual,  and  no 
one  had  observed  the  hole  which  Parley  had  made  in  the 
hedge.  This  oversight  arose  that  night  from  the  servants 
neglecting  one  of  the  master's  standing  orders, — to  make 
a  nightly  examination  of  the  state  of  the  castle.  The  neg 
lect  did  not  proceed  so  much  from  wilful  disobedience,  as 
from  having  passed  the  evening  in  sloth  and  diversion ; 
which  often  amounts  to  nearly  the  same. 

As  all  was  very  cheerful  within,  so  all  was  very  quiet 
without.  And  before  they  went  to  bed,  some  of  the  ser- 
vants observed  to  the  rest,  that,  as  they  heard  no  robbers 
that  night,  they  thought  they  might  soon  begin  to  remit 
something  of  their  diligence  in  bolting,  and  barring ;  that 
all  this  fastening  and  locking  was  very  troublesome  ;  and 
they  hoped  the  danger  was  now  pretty  well  over.  It  was 
rather  remarkable  that  they  never  made  this  sort  of  obser- 
vations but  after  an  evening  of  some  excess,  and  when 
they  had  neglected  their  private  business  with  their  master. 


12  PARLEY    THE    PORTER. 

All,  however,  except  Parley,  went  quietly  to  bed,  and 
seemed  to  feel  uncommon  security. 

Parley  crept  down  to  his  lodge.  He  had  half  a  mind  t< 
go  to  bed  too ;  yet  he  was  not  willing  to  disappoint  Mr. 
Flatterwell,  so  civil  a  gentleman.  To  be  sure,  he  might 
have  bad  designs,  yet  what  right  had  he  to  suspect  any- 
body who  made  such  professions,  and  who  was  so  very 
civil.  Besides,  "  it  is  something  for  my  advantage,"  added 
Parley.  "  I  will  not  open  the  door,  that  is  certain  ;  but  as 
he  is  to  come  alone,  he  can  do  me  no  harm  through  the 
bars  of  the  windows  ;  and  he  will  think  I  am  a  coward,  if 
I  don't  keep  my  word  :  no,  I  will  let  him  see  that  I  am  not 
afraid  of  my  own  strength  :  I  will  show  him  I  can  go  what 
length  I  please,  and  stop  short  when  I  please."  Had  Flat- 
terwell heard  this  boastful  speech,  he  would  have  been 
quite  sure  of  his  man. 

About  eleven,  Parley  heard  the  signal  agreed  upon.  It 
was  so  gentle  as  to  cause  little  alarm.  So  much  the  worse. 
Flatterwell  never  frightened  any  one,  and  therefore  sel- 
dom failed  of  any  one.  Parley  stole  softly  down,  planted 
himself  at  his  little  window,  opened  the  casement,  and 
spied  his  new  friend.  It  was  pale  star-light.  Parley  was 
a  little  frightened,  for  he  thought  he  perceived  one  or  two 
persons  behind  Flatterwell  ;  but  the  other  assured  him 
that  it  was  only  his  own  shadow,  which  his  fears  had 
magnified  into  a  company.  "  Though  I  assure  you," 
said  he,  "  I  have  not  a  friend  but  what  is  as  harmless  as 
myself." 

They  now  entered  into  earnest  discourse,  in  whicli 
Flatterwell  showed  himself  a  deep  politician.  He  skilfully 
mixed  up  in  his  conversation  a  proper  proportion  of  praise 
on  the  pleasures   of   the    wilderness,    of  compliments    to 


PARLEY    THE    PORTER.  13 

Parley,  of  ridicule  on  his  master,  and  of  abusive  sneers 
on  the  book  in  which  the  master's  laws  were  written. 
Against  this  last  he  had  always  a  particular  spite,  for  he 
considered 'it  as  the  grand  instrument  by  which  the  master 
maintained  his  servants  in  allegiance  ;  and  when  they  could 
once  be  brought  to  sneer  at  the  book,  there  was  an  end  of 
submission  to  the  master.  Parley  had  not  penetration 
enough  to  see  his  drift. 

"  As  to  the  book,  Mr.  Flatterwell,"  said  he,  "  1  do 
not  know  whether  it  be  true  or  false ;  I  rather  neg- 
lect than  disbelieve  it.  I  am  forced,  indeed,  to  hear  it 
read  once  a  week,  but  I  never  look  into  it  myself,  if  I  can 
help  it." 

"  Excellent,"  said  Flatterwell  to  himself,  "  that  is  just 
the  same  thing.  This  is  safe  ground  for  me  ;  for  whether 
a  man  does  not  believe  in  the  book,  or  does  not  attend  to 
it,  it  comes  pretty  much  to  the  same,  and  I  generally  get 
him  at  last." 

"  Why  cannot  we  be  a  little  nearer,  Mr.  Parley  ?" 
said  Flatterwell ;.  "  I  am  afraid  of  being  overheard  by 
some  of  your  master's  spies,  the  window  from  which 
you  speak  is  so  high  ;  I  wish  you  would  come  down  to 
the  door." 

"  Well,"  said  Parley,  "  I  see  no  great  harm  in  that. 
There  is  a  little  wicket  in  the  door,  through  which  we  can 
converse  with  more  ease  and  equal  safety.  The  same  fast- 
enings will  still  be  between  us." 

So  down  he  went,  but  not  without  a  degree  of  fear 
and  trembling.     " 

The  little  wiqket  being  now  opened,  and  Flatterwell 
standing  close  on  the  outside  of  the  door,  they  conversed 
with  great  ease. 

EW  Nar.  9 


14  PARLEY    THE    PORTER. 

"  Mr.  Parley,"  said  Flatterwell,  "  I  should  not  have 
pressed  you  so  much  to  admit  me  into  the  castle,  but  out 
of  pure  disinterested  regard  to  your  own  happiness.  I 
shall  get  nothing  by  it,  but  I  cannot  bear  to  think  that  a 
person  so  wise  and  amiable  should  be  shut  up  in  this 
gloomy  dungeon,  under  a  hard  master,  and  a  slave  to  the 
unreasonable  tyranny  of  his  book  of  laws.  If  you  admit 
me,  you  need  have  no  more  waking,  no  more  watching." 
Here  Parley  involuntarily  slipped  back  the  bolt  of  the 
door.  "  To  convince  you  of  my  true  love,"  continued 
Flatterwell,  "  I  have  brought  a  bottle  of  the  most  de- 
licious wine  that  grows  in  the  wilderness.  You  shall 
taste  it,  but  you  must  put  a  glass  through  the  wicket 
to  receive  it;  for  it  is  a  singular  property  in  this  wine, 
that  we  of  the  wilderness  cannot  succeed  in  conveying 
it  to  you  of  the  castle,  without  you  hold  out  a  vessel  to 
receive  it:" 

"  O,  here  is  a  glass,"  said  Parley,  holding  out  a  large 
goblet,  which  he  always  kept  ready  to  be  filled  ^y  any 
chance  comer.  The  other  immediately  poured  into  the 
capacious  goblet  a  large  draught  of  that  delicious,  intoxi- 
cating liquor,  with  which  the  family  of  the  Flatterwells 
have,  for  near  six  thousand  years,  gained  the  heai*ts  and 
destroyed  the  souls  of  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  castle, 
whenever  they  have  been  able  to  prevail  on  them  to  hold 
out  a  hand  to  receive  it.  This  the  wise  master  of  the 
castle  well  knew  would  be  the  case,  for  he  knew  what 
was  in  men ;  he  knew  their  propensity  to  receive  the 
delicious  poison  of  the  Flatterwells,  and  it  was  for  this 
reason  that  he  gave  them  the  book  of  his  laws,  and 
planted  the  hedge,  ar<H  invented  the  bolts,  and  doubled 
the  locks. 


PARLEY    THE    PORTER.  15 

As  soon  as  poor  Parley  had  swallowed  the  fatal  draught, 
h  acted  like  enchantment.  He  at  once  lost  all  power  of 
resistance.  He  had  no  sense  of  fear  left.  He  despised 
his  own  safety,  forgot  his  master,  lost  all  sight  of  the 
house  in  the  other  country,  and  reached  out  for  another 
draught,  as  eagerly  as  Flatterwell  held  out  the  bottle  to 
administer  it. 

"  What  a  fool  I  have  been,"  said  Parley,  "  to  deny 
myself  so  long." 

"  Will  you  now  let  me  in  ?"  said  Flatterwell. 

"  Ay,  that  I  will,"  said  the  deluded  Parley.  Though 
the  train  was  now  increased  to  near  a  hundred  robbers, 
yet  so  intoxicated  was  Parley,  that  he  did  not  see  one 
of  them  except  his  new  friend.  Parley  eagerly  pulled 
down  the  bars,  drew  back  the  bolts,  and  forced  open  the 
locks,  thinking  he  could  never  let  in  his  friend  soon  enough. 
He  had  however  just  presence  of  mind  to  say,  "  My  dear 
friend,  I  hope  you  are  alone." 

Flatterwell  swore  he  was.  Parley  opened  the  door — 
in  rushed,  not  Flatterwell  only,  but  the  whole  banditti, 
who  always  lurk  behind  in  his  train.  The  moment  they 
had  got  sure  possession,  Flatterwell  changed  his  soft  tone, 
and  cried  out  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  "  Down  with  the 
castle  ;  kill,  burn,  and  destroy." 

Rapine,  murder,  and  conflagration,  by  turns,  took 
place.  Parley  was  the  very  first  whom  they  attacked. 
He  was  overpowered  with  wounds.  As  he  fell,  he  cried 
out,  "  O,  my  master,  I  die  a  victim  to  my  unbelief  in  thee, 
and  to  my  own  vanity  and  imprudence.  O  that  the  guar- 
dians of  all  other  castles  would  hear  me  with  my  dying 
breath  repeat  my  master's  admonition,  that  attacks  from 
without  will  not  destroy,   unless  there  is  some  confederate 


16  PARLEY    THE    PORTER. 

within.  O  that  the  keepers  of  all  other  castles  would 
learn  from  my  ruin,  that  he  who  parleys  with  tempta- 
tion, is  already  undone;  that  he  who  allows  himself  to  go 
to  the  very  bounds,  will  soon  jump  over  the  hedge  ;  that  he 
who  talks  out  of  the  window  with  the  enemy,  will  soon 
o:>en  the  door  to  him ;  that  he  who  holds  out  his  hand  for 
the  cup  of  sinful  flattery,  loses  all  power  of  resisting  ;  that 
when  he  opens  the  door  to  one  sin,  all  the  rest  fly  in  upon 
him,  and  the  man  perishes,  as  I  now  do." 


Beware  of  Peter's  word, 

Nor  confidently  say, 
£* 1  never  will  deny  the  Lord," 

But,  "grant  I  never  may." 

Man's  wisdom  is  to  seek 

His  strength  in  God  alone  ; 
And  e'en  an  angel  would  be  weak 

Who  trusted  in  his  own. 

Retreat  beneath  his  wings, 

And  in  his  grace  confide ; 
This  more  exalts  the  King  of  kings 

Than  all  your  works  beside. 

In  Jesus  is  our  store  ; 

Grace  issues  from  his  throne  ; 
Whoever  says,  "  I  want  no  more," 

Confesses  he  has  none.  cowper 


NARRATIVE  V 


THE  SPOILED  CHILD. 


A  NARRATIVE   OF   FACTS 


BY  W.   C.   BROWNLEE,  D.  D 


The  valley  that  is  bounded  by  L and  S y  hills, 

in  the  county  of ,  and  state  of  N ,  is  remark- 
able for  its  beauty  and  fertility.     The  sluggish  stream  of 

the  P winds  slowly  in  its  serpentine  course  through  the 

midst  of  it,  and  waters  a  succession  of  well-cultivated  farms. 
The  inhabitants  used  to  be  among  the  most  church-going 
and  happy  people  in  that  district  of  the  country,  until,  by 

the  influence  of  General and  a  club  of  his  friends,  the 

spirit  of  infidelity,  and  with  it  dissipation  and  corrupt  morals, 
crept  in  among  them. 

9* 


2  THE    SPOILED    CHILD. 

John  C 1  was  one  of  the  wealthiest  and  most  influen- 
tial men  in  the  valley.  Every  thing  was  neat  and  well-ar 
ranged  in  his  mansion,  and  the  outbuildings,  and  every  nook 
and  corner  of  the  fences,  and  the  whole  farm,  displayed  the 
hand  of  the  tasteful  and  diligent  cultivator.  He  was  one  of 
those  men  who  retained  the  rural  simplicity  of  the  first  set- 
tlers of  our  country.  He  had  received  the  usual  substan- 
tial English  education  of  his  day  ;  his  mind  was  one  of  a 
high  order  ;  his  judgment  was  discriminating;  his  memory 
retained,  with  unusual  tenacity,  what  he  had  read.  In  his 
whole  deportment  there  was  just  such  a  dignity  and  air  of 
pleasantness  as  one  might  expect  to  find  in  a  Christian  who 
had  long  walked  with  God ;  who  had  daily  studied  his  Bible  ; 
who  had  a  warm  and  benevolent  heart;  who  had,  next  to 
the  pastor,  been  the  leading  man  in  the  parish ;  who  had 
been  in  the  magistracy,  was  honored  in  his  county,  and 
had  always  been  accustomed  to  be  consulted  in  matters  of 
delicacy  and  public  interest.  The  exterior  was  worthy  of 
such  a  mind :  he  was  a  tall,  venerable  man,  the  patriarch 
of  the  valley. 

His  house  was  five  miles  from  the  village  church  ;  and 
yet  no  man  was  more  punctual  in  his  attendance.  It  was 
never  recollected,  even  by  an  enemy,  that  he  was  in  any 
instance  late.  The  secret  of  it  was  this :  he  rose  as  early 
on  a  Sabbath  morning  as  on  days  of  business  ;  and  it  was  a 
part  of  his  religion  not  to  give  any  offence,  or  disturb  others, 
during  the  worship  of  God,  by  coming  in  late.  Besides,  he 
loved  God's  sanctuary  ;  his  heart  was  early  there  ;  and  it 
was  natural  that  he  should  wish  to  join  in  the  first  ascrip- 
tions of  praise  to  God.  No  ordinary  storm  would  prevent 
him  from  being,  summer  and  winter,  in  his  place.  If  it 
rained,  he  put  on  a  greatcoat ;  for  he  always  rode  on  horse- 
back ;  and  if  it  stormed  severely,  he  would  put  on  two.  And 
when  he  reached  the  church,  usually  among  the  foremost, 
he  would  gravely  observe  that  it  seemed  greatly  to  be  de 
sired  that  the  rain  should  cease,  that  those  who  dwelt  close 


THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  3 

by  might  venture  into  the  house  of  God  ;  adding,  that  if,  like 
himself,  they  had  five  long  miles  to  come,  they  would  proba- 
bly prize  in  a  higher  degree  the  privilege  of  the  sanctuary. 

The  domestic  arrangements  of  his  family  seemed  also, 
in  all  respects,  befitting  his  Christian  character  and  profes- 
sion. And  his  wife,  endowed  with  singular  prudence  and 
the  other  Christian  graces,  seemed  a  true  help-meet.  Every 
morning  and  evening  the  whole  family  was  assembled 
around  the  domestic  altar,  and  the  worship  of  the  Most 
High  performed  with  great  reverence.  In  the  busiest  sea- 
sons he  would  frequently  say  to  his  laborers,  "  My  friends, 
we  always  find  time  to  take  our  daily  food  ;  let  us  also  take 
time  to  worship  the  Lord  our  God,  and  remember,  prayers 
and  provender  never  hinder  a  journey." 

Here  were  all  the  elements  of  happiness,  usefulness,  and 
honor,  apparently  combined.     Surely,  his  neighbors  would 

say,  Mr.  C 1  must  be  a  happy  man  ;  rich  in  this  world's 

goods,  and  rich  in  the  grace  of  God ;  honored  in  the  church  ; 
esteemed  and  respected  by  all  in  the  social  and  political 
circles  ;  possessed  of  a  fine  constitution,  and  enjoying  unin- 
terrupted health  :  what  is  there  to  disturb  his  mind  or  mar 
his  peace  ? 

But  it  had  been  long  observed  by  the  pastor  that  there 
was  some  secret  worm  at  the  root  of  his  joys ;  and  it  be- 
came, at  length,  manifest  to  all  his  intimate  friends.  The 
grace  of  God  will,  indeed,  carry  a  Christian  through  any 
afflictions ;  it  will  give  buoyancy  to  his  mind  and  spirits,  in 
the  darkest  and  most  distressing  hours.  Our  heavenly 
Father's  face  shining  upon  us,  will  disperse  the  heaviest 
clouds.  An  humble  and  believing  view  of  the  Redeemer 
pleading  for  us  at  the  very  moment  when  we  are  like  to  be 
overwhelmed  by  the  waves  of  sorrow,  will  send  a  foretaste 
of  heaven's  joy  into  our  wounded  souls ;  and  when  the 
Holy  Comforter  seals  upon  our  hearts  the  consolations  of 
his  grace,  we  can  praise  him,  even  in  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death. 


4  THE    SPOILED    CHILD. 

But  of  all  the  sorrows  which  befall  a  Christian,  that 
which  comes  nearest  to  his  heart,  paralyzing  his  mind  and 
drinking  up  his  joys,  is  the  outbreaking  of  wickedness  in 
his  children. 

Mr.  C 1  had  a  son ;  he  was  his  eldest  child  and  his 

only  son.  On  this  child  he  had  doated  ;  he  had  made  an 
idol  of  him.  This  is  the  besetting  sin  of  Christian  parents, 
especially  those  who  are,  by  natural  temperament,  unusually 
kind-hearted  and  affectionate.  It  is  indeed  a  strong  and 
overpowering  temptation.  We  doat  on  our  offspring ;  they 
become  spoiled  children ;  and  such  is  the  ordering  of  di- 
vine Providence,  we,  who  have  sinfully  indulged  them,  and 
"  spared  the  rod  "  when  we  ought  to  have  employed  it  to 
drive  away  folly  from  the  young  heart,  according  to  the 
command  of  God,  learn,  to  our  sorrow,  that  they  are  em- 
ployed, in  our  old  age,  as  the  rod  in  God's  hand  to  chastise 
our  criminal  indulgence ! 

It  has  been  unfeelingly  asserted,  particularly  by  some 
who  are  unfriendly  to  religion,  that  "  pious  parents  have 
generally  very  wicked  children.''"  But  facts  do  not  warrant 
the  assertion.  On  the  contrary,  the  fact  of  an  eminent 
Christian,  whether  minister  or  layman,  having  a  profane 
child,  always  calls  forth  marked  attention  as  something 
which  the  public  did  not  expect  in  such  a  family ;  whereas 
it  is  never  a  wonder  with  any  one,  that  wicked  and  profane 
children  should  proceed  out  of  wicked  and  profane  fami- 
lies. The  Christian  parent,  however,  in  the  hour  of  sorrow 
for  the  waywardness  of  his  children,  will  make  great 
searchings  of  heart  into  the  causes  of  it.  The  promise  of 
God  is  full  before  him,  he  seeks  not  to  pervert  or  modify  its 
import:  "  Train  up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should  go,  and 
when  he  is  old  he  will  not  depart  from  it."  He  bemoans  his 
delinquencies  in  many,  yea,  in  innumerable  instances, 
which  the  eyes  of  the  world  have  never  perceived,  but 
which  his  own  delicate  conscience  promptly  discovers. 
Such  was  the  fact  with  the  father  whose  character  we  have 


THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  O 

been  describing.  No  enlightened  Christian,  perhaps,  was 
ever  more  ready  to  admit  his  delinquencies  before  God  ;  or 
more  earnest,  by  prayer  and  supplication,  to  regain  the 
ground  he  had  lost,  and  subdue  what  had  hitherto  baffled 
his  skill. 

It  was  on  one  of  those  beautiful  days  in  our  autumn, 
When  every  thing  in  the  country  is  smiling  under  the  pro- 
fusions of  the  divine  beneficence,  that  Doctor  F.,  the  pastor 

of  the  village  of  B ,  made  a  visit  to  Mr.  C 1,  who 

was  a  ruling  elder  in  his  church. 

He  found  him  sowing  his  fields  with  the  winter  grain. 
He  would  not  permit  him  to  desist  from  his  labor,  and  there- 
by interrupt  the  arrangements  of  the  day ;  but  he  walked 
side  by  side  with  him,  discoursing  on  general  topics ;  and 
finally,  on  the  state  of  the  church,  and  the  happy  prospect 
of  an  answer  to  their  prayers,  in  a  revival  of  religion.  For 
often  had  that  village  been  blessed  with  seasons  of  refresh- 
ings from  the  presence  of  the  Lord,  accompanied  by  a  rich 
ingathering  of  souls ;  and  there  were  now  some  cheering 
evidences  of  another  outpouring  of  the  Spirit. 

While  they  were  thus  engaged,  the  son  of  Mr.  C 1, 

a  lad  about  seventeen  years  of  age,  approached  to  mock : 
he  groaned,  and  made  singular  grimaces,  or  laughed  aloud, 
as  he  walked  immediately  behind  his  father ;  and  at  the  end 
of  the  ridge  next  to  the  house,  having  caught  up  a  young 
animal,  he  contrived,  by  tormenting  it,  to  make  it  utter  one 
continued  yell.  This  he  did  in  defiance  of  the  solemn 
rebukes  of  the  pastor,  and  the  entreaties  and  threats  of  his 
too  indulgent  parent.  An  end  had  been  thus  put  to  all 
regular  conversation  ;  and  at  this  last  outrage  the  aged 
father  wept  in  silence,  and  sought  to  conceal  his  tears  as  he 
hurriedly  sowed  his  field. 

This  ebullition  of  youthful  fury  had  been  caused,  it  was 
afterwards  discovered,  by  the  father's  peremptory  refusal 
of  the  usual  supply  of  money.  Like  too  many  parents,  fool- 
ishly indulgent,  he  had  yielded  to  the  dominion  which  his 


6  THE    SPOILED   CHILD. 

only  son  possessed  on  his  heart,  and  had  given  liberally 
and  often.  This  only  created  an  appetite  for  more.  He 
soon  found  himself  compelled  to  give  liberally,  simply  to 
get  rid  of  his  importunate  duns.  And  having  made  the 
discovery  which,  as  a  wise  man,  he  ought  to  have  antici- 
pated as  naturally  as  any  common  effect  from  a  common 
cause,  that  this  free-  indulgence  with  money  had  led  him 
into  habits  of  dissipation,  and  that  the  present  solicitation 
was  made  to  enable  him  to  take  the  lead  at  a  "  frolic  "  in 
the  tavern  of  the  adjacent  village,  he  had  positively  refused 
him.  The  young  man  now  left  his  father's  presence  with 
a  threat  that  "  he  would  have  money,  and  just  that  sum 
which  he  needed ;  if  not  one  way,  at  least  by  another, 
which  he  (his  father)  might  conjecture." 

This  was  too  much  for  a  tender  parent's  heart  to  endure. 
He  took  hold  of  the  pastor's  arm  and  led  him  to  the  shade 
of  an  aged  apple-tree )  and  placing  him  beside  his  wife,  who 
had  joined  him  by  this  time,  he  sat  down  and  wept. 

"  My  poor  ruined  boy !"  was  all  he  could  now  utter  in 
his  grief.     His  wife  and  the  pastor  also  burst  into  tears. 

"  I  now  see  my  error,"  said  the  afflicted  parent,  after  a 
short  pause,  as  if  awakened  from  the  sleep  of  long  delu- 
sion ;  "  my  eyes  are  opened  to  the  calamity  that  has  be- 
fallen us.  But  oh !  sir,"  he  added,  as  he  grasped  the 
pastor's  hand,  "  how  can  I  retrace  my  steps  ?  O  my  God, 
have  mercy,  have  mercy  on  my  poor  spoiled  child !  God 
of  my  fathers,  who  didst  in  thy  tender  compassion  bring 
me  into  thy  fold,  look  in  mercy  on  my  poor  son !  Thou, 
O  Lord,  didst  convert  a  Manasseh,  and  didst  arrest  a  perse- 
cuting Saul  in  his  wicked  course  on  the  way  to  Damascus 
to  murder  thy  saints,  and  didst  reclaim  the  sottish  prodi- 
gal— O  have  mercy  on  my  son !  Let  the  riches  of  thy 
grace,  Father  in  heaven,  triumph,  one  day,  in  his  return  to 
thee  and  to  his  parents'  heart !  You  may  well  ask  me, 
dear  pastor,  why  I  do  not  correct  him.  Could  I  succeed  in 
detaching  him  from  his  companions,  then,  perhaps,  I  might 


THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  7 

do  it  with  some  hope ;  but  until  that  be  done,  correction 
may  only  drive  him  to  a  more  desperate  resistance ;  or, 
more  probably,  to  a  final  abandonment  of  my  roof;  and 
ultimately  to  the  commission  of  some  fearful  crime ;  and 
thence — my  soul  is  tortured  at  the  bare  possibility  of  it — to 
a  public  and  ignominious  suffering !  But  I  have  not  yet 
revealed  the  secret  cause  of  all  this  mischief.  There  is  a 
demon  in  him,  which  sets  at  defiance  Christian  discipline 
and  the  rod  of  correction  ;  yes,  in  him,  young  as  he  is — I 
mean  the  lust  of  strong  drink  !  This,  with  the  influence 
of  vicious  companions,  has,  I  am  grieved  to  say,  seared,  as 
with  a  hot  iron,  the  sensibilities  of  his  conscience  and  of 
natural  affection.  O !  I  look  back  on  the  past,  and  I  see 
my  fatal  errors  staring  me  in  the  face !" 

"  Did  you  not  commit  a  great  error,"  said  the  pastor 
with  tenderness,  "  in  not  sustaining  the  discipline  under 
which  his  teacher  sought  judiciously  and  faithfully  to 
bring  the  daring  and  turbulent  spirit  of  this  youth  ?  This 
I  once  recollect  to  have  witnessed,  and  ventured  to* predict 
the  result." 

"  We  did,  dear  pastor,  we  did,"  was  the  answer,  as  he 
cast  his  eyes  on  his  afflicted  wife  with  more  of  sorrow 
than  reproof,  "  we  did  ;  and  here  is  an  exceedingly  great 
evil  under  the  sun,  and  an  error  committed  by  almost  every 
parent.  The  teacher  is  one  of  the  most  useful  officers  in 
the  republic ;  one  of  the  most  necessary  and  influential 
office-bearers  among  us;  one  who  walks  forth  over  the 
land,  bearing  the  future  destinies  of  our  country  and  the 
church,  as  it  were,  in  his  hand.  He  has  the  training  of  the 
rising  generation,  the  hope  of  our  country  and  of  the  church 
of  God!  What  an  important,  what  a  responsible  office! 
Yet  how  often,  and  how  much  is  it  despised  !  and  it  is  mis- 
erably ill -paid,  moreover,  and  still  worse  treated  !  When 
the  school-master  would  bring  the  wayward  spirits  of  our 
spoiled  children  under  a  wholesome  discipline,  both  parents 
are,  in  too  many  instances,  in   arms  against  him.     And 


3  THE    SPOILED    CHILD. 

their  ill-timed  and  foolish  pity  fails  not  to  sustain  the  boy 
in  open  and  daring  rebellion  against  his  teacher,  and  in  the 
repetition  of  fresh  crimes.  This  parental  interference,  by 
paralyzing  the  arm  of  salutary  discipline,  has  helped  to 
consummate  the  ruin  of  many  a  hapless  youth  !" 

"  This  has  been  a  fatal  error,"  said  the  almost  heart- 
broken wife ;  "  but  this  is  not  all :  frivolous  excuses,  I 
remember  to  my  sorrow,  would  be  sustained  by  us,  for 
neglecting  his  evening  tasks ;  the  slightest  indisposition, 
and  (I  am  mortified  to  think  how  easily  we  were  deceived) 
that,  too,  very  often  pretended,  and  our  excessive  anxiety 
about  the  l  dear  child's '  health,  would  be  reason  enough  for 
allowing  him  to  absent  himself  whole  days  from  school. 
And  then,  from  our  foolish  fondness,  he  would  gain  per- 
mission from  us  to  rove  about  from  house  to  house,  and, 
what  was  worse,  to  absent  himself  whole  nights  from  his 
parental  roof.  It  is  thus  that  a  young  mind  acquires,  at  too 
early  an  age,  a  taste  for  company ;  its  inexperience  lays  it 
open  to  cruel  temptations,  while  it  is  too  young  to  derive, 
without  a  parent's  or  a  teacher's  guidance,  any  real  benefit 
from  it.  This  early  taste,  or  I  should  rather  say,  this  pas- 
sion for  company,  together  with  a  plentiful  supply  of  money 
from  indulgent  parents,  has  laid  the  foundation  of  utter  ruin 
to  many  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  youth.  And  I 
know  it  to  my  sorrow,  dear  pastor,  that  in  the  young  and 
inexperienced  mind,  where  we  are  not  busy  in  sowing  the 
good  seed  of  God's  word,  the  evil  one  is  very  busy  and 
successful  in  sowing  tares." 

"  How  easy  it  is  to  see  errors,"  said  the  father,  "  when 
the  bandage  of  our  delusions  is  thus  torn  from  our  eyes. 
Ah  !  sir,  experience  is  the  mother  of  wisdom.  One  of  our 
principal  errors  was  that  of  allowing  our  child  to  associate 
with  vicious  hoys,  until  they  had  so  entwined  themselves 
around  his  heart,  that  no  influence  or  authority  of  ours 
could  detach  him  from  the  snare.  And  often,  I  remember 
it  with  the  bitterness  of  remorse,  when  I  should  have  wooed 


THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  9 

him  over  with  kindness,  I  have,  in  my  wrath,  reproached 
the  character  of  his  associates  to  his  face.  The  conse- 
quence was  just  such  as  every  wise  student  of  human  na- 
ture must  have  observed.  His  galled  spirit  clung  closer 
and  closer  to  them,  as  they  were  persecuted  by  me  for  his 
sake.  There  is  a  witchery  in  a  young  profligate's  com- 
panions, which  parents  have  never  duly  conceived.  It  is 
the  result  of  that  depravity  which  pervades  the  human 
heart,  and  which  makes  us  averse  to  all  that  is  good,  and 
swift  to  learn  and  to  practise  what  is  evil.  One  hour's 
influence  of  profligate  company  on  a  young  mind  may  not 
be  effaced  by  days  and  months,  and  even  years  of  parental 
labor  and  prayer." 

"  And,  my  friends,"  said  the  pastor,  "  there  was  a  defect 
in  your  efforts  to  win  over  his  love  for  the  house  of  God.  I 
have  always  lent  my  countenance  to  the  practice  of  our 
good  old  fathers,  which  is  still  kept  up  in  our  church,  of 
bringing  the  children  into  the  house  of  God  on  the  holy  day 
of  rest.  God,  by  the  mouth  of  his  servant  Joel,  commanded 
the  children,  and  even  the  babes  at  the  breast,  as  well  as 
the  elders  and  the  people,  to  be  assembled  before  him  in  the 
solemn  convocation.  And  our  Redeemer,  in  the  days  of 
his  humiliation,  charged  parents  and  the  disciples  *  not  to 
forbid  little  children  when  coming  unto  him  ;'  '  for  of  such,' 
said  he,  'is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.'  We  must  train  them 
up,  in  infancy,  by  our  prayers,  privately,  and  in  the  house 
of  God ;  and  in  riper  years,  by  parental  and  pastoral  in- 
struction. And  thus,  by  the  grace  of  God,  we  can  beget  a 
respect  and  a  love  for  the  courts  and  the  ordinances  of 
God,  in  the  young  and  tender  mind." 

"  Yes,  dear  pastor,"  cried  the  father,  "  here,  in  the 
weakness  of  our -hearts,  did  we  commit  another  great  error. 
The  slightest  excuses  were  often  sustained  ;  and  *  the  dear 
child '  must  be  spared  the  journey,  and  the  pain  of  going  to 
church,  and  of  sitting  so  long,  and  being  confined  so  long 
in  church !     And  there  was  another  error,  as  serious  on 

Ele*.Nar.  |Q 


10  THE    SPOILED   CHILD. 

our  part,  by  which  the  mischief  was  consummated.  When 
we  were  urgent  to  overcome  his  aversion  to  the  church, 
which  we  invariably  found  to  be  strengthened  by  every 
fresh  indulgence  and  permission  to  stay  at  home,  he  would 
then,  to  get  rid  of  our  importunity  and  command,  beg  per- 
mission to  go  to  the  church  in  the  next  village,  which 
happened  to  be  nearer.  And  in  order  to  induce  him  to  go 
somewhere  to  the  house  of  God,  we  thus  left  him,  or  rather 
abandoned  him  to  himself.  That  which  we  ought  to  have 
anticipated  and  feared,  did  take  place.  His  vicious  com- 
panions took  the  charge  of  him ;  and  they  led  him,  not  into 
the  house  of  God,  but  into  the  village  taverns !  Whole 
Sabbaths  had  he  thus  spent  before  we  made  the  appalling 
discovery !" 

"  And  then,"  said  the  pastor,  "  did  not  your  too  fond  and 
compliant  hearts  place  funds  too  profusely  at  his  disposal, 
even  from  the  first  ?" 

"  Ah !  sir,"  cried  the  father,  "  that  was  my  next  error, 
which,  perhaps,  gave  pungency  and  fatality  to  the  rest.  I 
gave  him  money,  first,  because  '  I  loved  the  dear  child ;' 
then  I  gave  him  money,  because  I  saw  other  parents  giving 
liberally  to  their  children ;  and  then  I  gave  him  money, 
because  my  pride  said,  ■  My  only  son  shall  not  be  behind 
his  comrades  in  any  thing;'  and,  finally,  I  confess  that 
latterly  I  gave  many  sums  purely  out  of  self-defence,  or  an 
indolent  aversion  to  resistance,  simply  to  get  rid  of  his  im- 
portunate duns !  And  now  I  can  say,  from  experience, 
that  these  ill-timed  donations  to  children  fail  not  to  beget 
new  wants,  and  new  appetites,  and  new  desires.  This  evil 
is  like  the  dropsy  in  the  natural  body,  it  increases  by  its  own 
means  of  indulgence.  The  more  water  the  dropsical  man 
drinks,  the  more  thirsty  he  becomes,  and  the  more  inveterate 
is  his  disease  rendered  by  every  fresh  draught.  That 
parent  who  lavishes  '  pocket-money '  on  his  child,  before 
he  has  acquired  sound  principles  and  prudence  to  control 
his  passions,  and  a  spirit  of  enlightened  charity  and  good 


THE   SPOILED   CHILD.  11 

taste  to  make  a  wise  use  of  it,  exerts  his  influence  directly 
to  initiate  him  into  habits  of  gambling,  intemperance,  glut- 
tony, and  their  attendant  revolting  vices.  He  furnishes  the 
means  of  gratification ;  he  lays  the  train,  and  puts  into  the 
hands  of  his  child  the  lighted  torch  and  the  match  ready  to 
be  applied  !  All  this,  alas !  to  my  sorrow,  have  I  done. 
And  when,  at  length,  I  did  awaken  to  the  frightful  con- 
sequences, now  too  evident  in  the  confirmed  habits  of  vice 
in  my  poor  ruined  boy,  I  found  myself  adding  another  error 
to  the  former,  and  thereby  helping  on  the  mischief.  When 
I  was  dunned  with  incessant  clamors  to  supply  the  appetite 
which  my  folly  helped  to  create,  I  have  replied  fiercely, 
adding  reproach  and  insult  to  refusal,  instead  of  making  the 
effort  with  paternal  kindness  and  love  to  reclaim  him. 
What  was  the  result  ?  Just  what  you  have  witnessed,  and 
what  might  have  been  anticipated  in  one  whose  conscience 
is  seared,  and  who  is  prepared  for  the  most  debased  and 
debasing  conduct ;  just  that  which  is  practised  by  unprin- 
cipled and  ruined  sons  and  apprentices  every  day.  He 
actually  abstracted  property,  article  after  article,  weekly ; 
he  even  drove  off,  in  my  absence,  the  sheep  and  young 
cattle,  to  pay  his  debts  of  honor ;  namely,  his  tavern  and 
gambling  debts !  And  O !  sir,  I  am  well  aware,  that 
within  an  hour  he  has  been  repeating  this  robbery  on  his 
father!" 

"  It  is  a  desperate  case !"  said  the  pastor,  after  a  long 
pause  of  sorrowful  silence.  "  But  all  that  you  have  been 
alluding  to,  my  dear  friend,  are  only  the  branches  of  the 
evil  you  deplore.  If  you  go  farther  back  than  to  his  boy- 
hood at  school,  perhaps  you  may  discover  the  root.  And, 
my  dear  madam,"  continued  he,  in  the  most  tender  and 
respectful  manner,  "  I  allude  to  a  mother's  earliest  influence 
over  the  young  heart,  to  show  how  much  depends  on  a 
mother's  care ;  not  by  any  means  to  insinuate  that  you, 
like  Eve,  were  first  in  the  transgression.  But  did  you  not 
miss,  in  his  early  infancy,  or  at  least  in  the  earliest  part  of 


12  THE    SPOILED    CHILD. 

his  boyhood,  the  grand  opportunity  of  establishing  youi 
parental  authority  in  the  heart  of  your  dear  boy  ?" 

"  I  fear  I  did,"  said  she,  with  great  emotion  ;  "  and  often 
have  I  bewailed  it.  Ah !  sir,  I  am  assured  that  a  child  is 
capable  of  receiving  instruction,  ay,  and  of  being  spoiled,  as 
it  regards  religious  matters,  sooner  than  most  mothers  have 
any  just  conception  of.  I  did,  indeed,  long  for  the  grace 
of  God  to  sanctify  his  soul — and  earnestly,  if  I  know  my 
own  heart,  did  I  pray  for  this.  But,  on  review,  it  is  a 
question  involving  serious  doubt  with  me,  whether  I  did 
labor  aright,  or  use  the  means  of  God's  grace  in  a  skilful 
and  judicious  manner,  to  convey  the  truth  into  his  young 
heart,  and  establish  there  a  sense  of  God's  authority,  and 
thence  of  my  own  as  a  parent.  I  did  not  make,  I  fear,  a 
scriptural  effort  to  melt  down  his  heart,  by  causing  the 
knowledge,  and  thence  the  fear  of  the  great  God,  Creator, 
Preserver,  Redeemer,  and  Judge,  to  distil,  as  it  were,  drop 
by  drop,  on  his  mind  and  heart ;  and  by  teaching  him  to 
pray  to  God  as  soon  as  reason  dawned,  and  as  soon  as  he 
could  lisp  a  word.  The  first  word  I  should  have  taught 
him,  the  first  sentence  I  should  have  made  him  breathe  out, 
should  have  been, '  Thou,  God,  seest  me  !'  And  then,  again, 
I  fear  I  did  not  take  sufficient  care  to  soothe  his  spirit  when 
ruffled,  and  subdue  by  reason  and  kindness  his  little  fits  of 
violence  and  brawlings,  and  woo  him  over  by  love  and 
firmness.  I  have  known  a  mother  do  this  by  singing  softly 
a  melting  hymn  on  the  ear  of  her  little  child ;  and  by  teach- 
ing it  also  to  sing  a  sweet  and  plaintive  hymn,  as  well  as  to 
pray  with  infant  lisp,  to  the  great  God  who  always  sees  us  ! 
Awe  and  submission  to  God,  I  am  fully  persuaded,  is  the 
only  true  basis  of  genuine  and  unaffected  submission  and 
reverence  to  parents.  It  must  be  so,  if  it  be  a  moral  virtue, 
and  not  mere  instinct.  And  there  are  no  genuine  morals 
without  a  principle  of  religion.  Hence,  the  pagan  is 
described  as  '  without  natural  affection :'  the  parent  sac- 
rifices his  child,  and  the  child  his  parent;  and  we  have 


THE   SPOILED   CHILD.  I'd 

painful  evidence,  that  a  profligate  child  is  likewise  without 
natural  affection !  O !  it  was  here  I  failed.  I  see  my 
error.  I  should  never  have  given  up.  I  should  have  daily 
renewed  my  efforts.  I  should  have  labored  and  wrestled 
in  prayer ;  until,  by  the  grace  of  God,  I  saw  the  fruits  of 
my  exertions  showing  themselves  in  filial  reverence  and 
submission,  based  on  the  fear  and  the  love  of  God." 

She  paused,  and  wiped  her  flowing  tears.  "  These  are 
not  tears  of  sorrow  and  despair,  dear  pastor,"  she  added, 
after  she  had  composed  herself,  "  neither  are  these  the  con- 
jectures of  a  theorist.  I  saw  my  error  with  my  boy  ;  God, 
I  trust,  was  my  guide  in  training  that  dear  child,  my  daugh- 
ter, who  is  advancing  to  us :  she  is  not  only  a  sweet  child 
to  comfort  us  in  our  sorrows — I  have  reason  to  believe  that 
God  has  changed  her  heart ;  and  I  know  not  that  she  has 
ever  needed  a  reproof  from  her  dear  father  these  three  year  j 
past.  But  I  am  interrupting  you  ;  you  were  about  to  say 
something" 

At  this  moment  the  daughter  came  up,  a  beautiful  girl 
of  fourteen  or  fifteen  years,  who  cast  a  look  of  tender  anx- 
iety on  her  parents ;  and,  saluting  the  kind  pastor,  with  the 
frank  and  blushing  simplicity  of  innocence,  as  she  present- 
ed her  hand  to  receive  his  cordial  welcome,  she  sat  down  bv 
her  mother's  side.     The  pastor  went  on. 

"  I  have  learned,  from  painful  experience,"  said  he, 
"  that  many  parents,  and  even  some  of  them  the  most  pious, 
are  apt  to  prove  defective  in  two  grand  points :  in  their 
domestic  discipline,  and  the  early  training  of  their  chil- 
dren." 

They  are  defective  in  the  matter  employed  to  train  them, 
and  in  the  manner  of  applying  the  proper  matter.  Some 
parents  I  have  found  defective  in  both  of  these  ;  some  in  the 
former,  others  in  the  latter." 

"  Have  the  goodness  to  explain  yourself  more  fully," 
said  the  father.     The  pastor  went  on. 

"  To  understand  how  a  parent  may  be  defective  in  the 

10* 


14  THE    SPOILED   CHILD. 

matter  which  he  is  to  employ  in  the  training  of  his  children, 
you  need  only  to  recollect  that  vital  godliness,  as   Mrs. 

C 1  has  just  now  hinted,  is  the  only  true  basis  of  all 

genuine  morality ;  and  therefore  of  all  pure  moral  order, 
such  as  is  pleasing  in  the  eyes  of  God,  in  families,  as  well 
as  in  the  community.  I  do  not  deny  that  there  may  be 
morals,  even  lovely  morals,  and  virtuous  deportment  in  a 
person  destitute  of  true  religion.  And  I  also  admit  that 
these  are  good  and  valuable  in  their  place,  and  so  far  as 
they  go.  Our  blessed  Saviour  looked  on  the  young  man 
spoken  of  in  the  Gospel,  who  had,  in  the  exterior,  kept  the 
commandments,  '  and  loved  him,'  though  his  heart  was  as 
yet  a  stranger  to  vital  piety.  We  instinctively  love  such  a 
character,  while  we  are  disgusted  with  vice  and  profligacy. 
But  all  those  lovely  and  beautiful  traits  are,  nevertheless, 
radically  defective  :  they  can  no  more  be  compared  with  the 
virtues  and  morality  of  the  Gospel,  I  mean  *  the  beauties  of 
holiness,'  than  the  apples  said  to  grow  on  the  margin  of  the 
Dead  Sea,  with  these  golden  apples  of  a  skilful  hand's 
engrafting,  which  you  see  richly  clustering  on  that  mag- 
nificent tree  before  us.  The  former  were  fair,  very  fair,  to 
human  view ;  but  they  were  light  and  deceptive :  the 
interior  was  filled  up  with  black  dust,  emblematical  of  the 
depraved  and  unconverted  heart  of  the  mere  moralist.  But 
the  latter,  these  rich  apples  on  that  grafted  tree,  are  solid, 
sound  to  the  core,  and  delicious.  '  Neither  circumcision, 
nor  uncircumcision,'  that  is  to  say,  no  exterior  virtues,  or 
accomplishments,  or  mere  profession,  '  availeth  any  thing f 
before  God  at  his  bar,  for  our  personal  justification  and 
acceptance — no,  nothing  but  our  Redeemer's  righteousness ; 
and  for  morals,  nothing  but  '  a  neio  creature.9 

"  And  this,  my  dear  friends,  opens  up  the  true  secret 
why  the  philosopher  and  moralist,  who  trust  in  human  vir- 
tue alone,  with  all  its  defects,  have  never  succeeded  in  this 
matter.  There  is  nothing  in  philosophy,  there  is  nothing 
in  the  most  eloquent  declamation  on  virtue,  nothing  in  the 


THE    SPOILED   CHILD.  15 

most  persuasive  words  of  man's  wisdom,  that  can  ever  con- 
vey the  life,  or  spirit,  or  principle  of  vital  religion  into  the 
human  heart,  after  having  conquered  all  the  opposition  from 
the  devil,  the  world,  and  the  flesh.  Hence  these  never  did, 
and  they  never  can  convert  a  man  ;  they  never  have  made, 
they  never  can  make  a  true  Christian.  They  may  appear 
to  be  limpid  streams ;  but  they  are  the  streams  of  Damas- 
cus ;  not  the  divinely-appointed  and  health-giving  waters 
of  the  River  of  the  God  of  Israel.  The  life  of  the  Spirit  of 
God  is  not  in  them.  *  If  any  man  be  in  Christ  Jesus,  he  is 
a  new  creature.'  '  I,  through  the  law,  am  dead  to  the  law, 
that  I  might  live  unto  God.  I  am  crucified  with  Christ : 
nevertheless  I  live  ;  yet  not  I,  but  Christ  liveth  in  me  :  and 
the  life  which  I  now  live  in  the  flesh,  I  live  by  the  faith  of 
the  Son  of  God,  who  loved  me,  and  gave  himself  for  me.' 
Hence,  it  is  only  when  we  are  risen  with  Christ,  that  we 
1  seek  those  things  which  are  above,'  and  do  '  mortify  our 
members,'  and  bring  forth  the  fruits  of  hofiness  in  '  good 
works,  which  God  hath  ordained  that  we  should  walk  in 
them.' 

"It  is  easy  to  see,  then,  that  where  ' the  life  of  Christ' 
is  wanting,  no  fruits  of  holiness  can  be  produced ;  this 
1  life  of  Christ'  wanting,  the  very  basis  of  pure  morality  is 
wanting. 

"  But  the  Spirit  of  God  is  the  only  author  of  this  life. 
For  this  is  the  testimony  of  God  :  '  We  are  his  workmanship, 
created  in  Christ  Jesus,'  '  by  the  washing  of  regeneration, 
and  the  renewing  of  the  Holy  Ghost.'  Eph.  2  :  10 ;  Titus 
3  :  5.  And  in  the  production  of  the  '  new  creation,'  the 
Holy  Ghost  •  employs,  not  the  moral  declamation,  and  the 
enticing  words  of  the  philosophy  of  this  world  ;  not  the  per- 
suasions of '  science  falsely  so  called  :'  these  may  be  useful 
and  ornamental  in  their  place ;  they  may  be  as  choice 
pearls ;  but  what  are  pearls  to  a  hungering  and  thirsting 
soul  ?  what  are  pearls  to  the  famished  Arab  in  the  dry  and 
barren  wilderness  ?     It  is  the  voice  of  God  only  that  raises 


16  ^HE    SPOILED   CHILD. 

the  dead  ;  it  is  the  precious  truth  of  the  Gospel  alone,  which 
the  Holy  Ghost  employs  to  convince  and  convert  sinners  ; 
it  is  the  bread  and  the  water  of  life  alone,  that  can  bring 
back  the  fainting  spirit  of  man,  and  can  sustain  the  life  of 
God  in  the  soul.  The  words  of  our  Lord  are  explicit  on 
this  point.  We  are  '  born  again,  not  of  corruptible  seed, 
but  of  incorruptible,  by  the  word  of  God,  which  liveth  and 
abideth  forever.  And  this  is  the  word  which,  by  the  Gos- 
pel, is  preached  unto  you.'  And,  under  a  deep  sense  of  our 
responsibility,  and  in  the  faithful  and  diligent  use  of  all  the 
means  and  ordinances  appointed  of  God,  we  *  purify  our 
souls  in  obeying  the  truth,  through  the  Spirit,  unto  un- 
feigned love  of  the  brethren,'  and  '  building  up  ourselves 
On  our  most  holy  faith,  praying  in  the  Holy  Ghost,  we  keep 
ourselves  in  the  love  of  God,'  and  l  grow  in  grace,'  till  we 
come  f  unto  the  perfect  man ;  to  the  measure  of  the  stature 
of  the  fulness  of  Christ.' 

"  And  I  rTeed  not  tell  you,  my  friend,  how  fruitless 
would  be  vour  labor  in  planting,  in  this  beautiful  orchard 
of  yours,  a  tree  '  twice  dead,'  which  had  been,  long  ago, 
6  plucked  up  by  the  roots  ;'  or,  how  fruitless  would  be  your 
utmost  diligence  and  painstaking  in  plowing  and  sowing 
these  fine  fields  of  yours,  if  you  throw  in  the  wrong  seed. 
He  who  resorts  to  human  means,  and  human  wisdom  only, 
in  the  training  of  his  family,  and  adopts  the  world's  cold 
and  lifeless  morality,  instead  of  the  living  and  powerful 
word  of  God's  Gospel,  is  actually  sowing  tares  instead  of 
wheat.  He  may  toil  late  and  early ;  but  he  will,  at  the 
last,  be  mortified  to  find  that  the  crop  will  be  tares,  and 
nothing  but  tares  !  This,  my  dear  friend,  is  the  dangerous 
result  of  erring  in  the  matter  of  training." 

"  Ah  !  dear  pastor,"  exclaimed  Mr.  C 1,  "  it  may  be 

that  I  have  erred  in  the  skilful  use  of  all  this  ;  but  not,  as 
I  trust,  in  the  matter  itself.  What  you  have  kindly  recited 
are  the  truths  which  my  soul  loves.  We  have  erred,  1 
think,  less  in  the  matter*  than  in  the  manner  of  applying 


THE    SPOILED   CHILD.  17 

them.  Will  you,  dear  pastor,  have  the  goodness  briefly  to 
notice  the  usual  failures  here." 

"  Touching  this  matter,"  said  the  pastor,  "  it  is  not  only 
our  duty,  but  a  pleasure  to  copy  the  manner  of  our  divine 
Master  in  all  points  practicable.  Now,  it  must  have  struck 
you  that  our  Lord  exhibited  the  most  perfect  kindness, 
tenderness,  and  benevolence,  in  the  whole  manner  of  his 
instruction.  Let  us,  then,  put  kindness,  tenderness,  and 
benevolence  foremost,  in  the  list  of  the  graces  of  parental 
government.  Let  our  whole  souls  flow  forth  in  kindliest 
emotions.  O !  let  us  ever  think  of  the  unutterable  value 
of  the  souls  of  children  entrusted  to  our  care ;  let  us  lose 
no  opportunity,  let  us  spare  no  pains  to  pluck  them  as 
brands  from  the  burning.  Let  us  never  cease  to  woo  over 
their  souls  to  Christ,  by  our  entreaties,  by  our  tears,  by  our 
prayers,  by  our  love,  by  our  example.  Knowing  the  ter- 
rors of  the  Lord,  let  us  use  the  most  touching  persuasions 
which  the  yearning  of  parental  love  can  suggest. 

"  But,  alas  !  how  often  do  parents  err  in  this  point !  The 
error  sometimes  arises  from  an  irritable  temper;  passion 
overwhelms  reason  and  reflection ;  we  do  not  stop  to  recol- 
lect how  much  our  own  dear  parents  bore  with  our  way- 
wardness and  follies ;  we  forget  how  much,  and  how  long 
our  heavenly  Father  has  borne  with  us ;  we- forget  how  in- 
consistent is  this  hasty  spirit  with  the  character  of  Christian 
parents,  who  must  be  '  apt  to  teach,'  and  therefore  patient 
and  long-suffering.  The  error  sometimes  proceeds  from  a 
failing  leaning  to  virtue's  side.  A  Christian  has  warm  and 
strong  feelings  of  piety ;  these  hurry  him  on ;  and  he  does 
not  exercise  calm  reflection,  so  as  to  make  the  proper  and 
necessary  allowances  for  youth's  thoughtlessness  and  follies. 
But  did  our  Father  in  heaven  bear  with  us  ?  Did  our  Mas- 
ter forgive  us  ten  thousand  talents,  and  shall  we  not  bear 
with  our  children,  and  forgive  them  a  hundred  pence  ?  Shall 
we,  who  profess  to  be  the  children  of  the  light,  not  remem- 
ber that  we  must  subdue  the  young  heart  by  the  discipline 
vol.  i,  15 


18  THE   SPOILED   CHILD. 

of  truth,  applied  with  labor  and  prayer,  not  by  force  or  tho 
spirit  of  persecution ! 

"  And  permit  me  also  to  add  here,  that  we  who  are  par- 
ents are  often  a  good  deal  defective  in  another  valuable 
quality,  or  virtue,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  call  it  so — I 
mean,  cheerfulness.  To  the  absence  of  this,  and  the  influ- 
ence of  moroseness,  may  we  not,  in  a  great  measure, 
ascribe  the  aversion  so  manifest  in  many  young  people,  of 
the  higher  and  middling  ranks,  to  the  topic  of  religious  con- 
versation ?  In  all  our  allusions  and  conversations  on  the 
matter  of  religion,  we  should  carefully  study  to  make  it 
what  it  is  in  sober  reality,  the  most  lovely  and  the  most 
charming  thing  in  the  world  ! 

"  Much  wisdom  and  spiritual  skill  are  required  in  mak- 
ing a  cheerful  and  exhilarating  improvement  of  the  Sabbath 
evening.  In  recalling  to  memory  and  reviewing  the  duties 
and  exercises  of  the  day,  we  should  studiously  endeavor  to 
make  our  fireside  and  Sabbath  evening  conversations  the 
most  delightful  and  most  captivating  possible  to  the  young 
mind.  There  are  some  parents  and  masters  of  families  so 
stern,  so  awful,  so  morose  in  their  manner,  that  their  exhi- 
bitions of  the  lovely  Gospel  of  Christ  are  really  revolting 
to  young  persons.  They  seem  to  mistake  sternness  for  so- 
lemnity, moroseness  for  zeal,  and  a  spirit  to  find  fault  with 
and  chide  every  one,  for  a  spirit  of  piety  and  purity.  They 
seem  as  if  they  took  a  pleasure  in  picturing  out  religion, 
not  as  an  angel  in  robes  of  glory,  but  as  a  dark  and  lower- 
ing demon,  come  to  rob  us  of  our  joys !  This  cannot  fail 
to  excite  disgust.  To  this  cause,  and  also,  in  an  equal,  if 
not  superior  degree,  to  another  cause — I  mean  the  total 
absence  of  all  religious  conversation  at  a  parent's  fireside — , 
do  I  ascribe  the  prevailing  dislike  for  religious  conversa- 
tion among  young  people. 

"  But,  my  dear  friends,  while  I  recommend  cheerfulness, 
I  would  implore  every  Christian  parent  to  be  on  his  guard 
against  the  want  of  a  proper  and  becoming  gravity.     An 


THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  19 

ill-timed  levity  has,  in  many  instances,  produced  lasting  and 
most  injurious  consequences.  Gravity  and  cheerfulness 
are  perfectly  consistent,  and  even  congenial ;  it  is  the  for- 
mer which  prevents  the  latter  from  degenerating  into  utter 
levity.  Never,  on  a  Sabbath  evening,  and  never  on  a 
religious  subject,  should  becoming  gravity  permit  the  intro- 
duction of  wit  and  levity ;  far  less,  '  foolish  talking  or  jest- 
ing, which  are  not  convenient.3  It  was  one  of  that  learned 
and  truly  godly  man,  President  Edwards'  recorded  rules  of 
life,  '  never  to  say  a  thing  on  the  Lord's  day  which  would 
excite  mirth  or  a  laugh.'  This  should  be  strictly  observed 
by  every  Christian  parent  and  master  of  a  family.  We 
may  be  perfectly  cheerful  without  mirth  and  laughter. 
Let  every  thing  be  in  its  proper  place,  and  always  season- 
able. 

"  There  is  another  defect  in  the  manner,  which  1  cannot 
omit :  the  want  of  a  due  equanimity  of  temper.  This  is 
usually  betrayed  by  impatience  and  irritation.  It  is  of 
essential  importance,  not  only  to  be  on  our  guard  against 
these,  but  to  have  the  mind  cured  of  them,  as  an  exceeding 
great  evil.  A  parent  should  never  use  the  rod  until  he  is 
convinced,  on  cool  recollection,  that  it  is  his  imperative  duty 
to  have  recourse  to  it :  he  should  never  correct  a  child  until 
he  has  convinced  him  of  his  error  and  crime ;  he  should 
never  correct  a  child  in  a  passion :  to  do  so  is  to  indulge  a 
spirit  of  revenge,  not  to  exercise  salutary  parental  disci- 
pline. His  whole  manner  should  indicate  to  the  child  that 
he  administers  the  correction  with  the  utmost  reluctance, 
and  from  a  painful  sense  of  duty.  An  estimable  friend  of 
mine  had  an  untoward  son :  he  had  committed  a  crime 
against  the  laws  of  the  household :  he  took  him  into  the 
family  circle,  spent  some  time  in  explaining  to  him  the 
nature  and  the  evil  of  that  crime,  and  laying  the  rod  down, 
he  said,  '  It  is  my  duty,  my  child,  to  correct  you ;  but  I 
will  do  it  in  the  fear  of  God.  Let  us  first  pray.'  The 
whole  family  circle  threw  themselves  on  their  knees,  while 


20  THE    SPOILED   CHILD. 

he  poured  out,  with  deep  emotions,  and  many  tears,  a  prayer 
for  his  stubborn  and  rebellious  child.  The  culprit  alone 
remained  standing ;  but  the  prayer  and  tears  of  his  father 
melted  his  refractory  heart,  and  he  kneeled  down  also.  The 
correction  was  administered  with  evident  distress ;  but  it  was 
light,  for  the  child  bowed  instantly  in  submission  and  peni- 
tential confessions.  And  to  my  knowledge  it  was  the  last 
he  ever  needed.  He  is  still  alive  ;  and  a  more  dutiful  and 
excellent  son  you  will  not  readily  find. 

"  There  is  another  defect,  which  is  originated  by  a 
parent's  constitutional  indolence  and  aversion  to  the  trouble 
and  pain  of  discipline.  This  dangerous  failing  has  made 
many  a  parent  criminally  yield  to  his  own  ease  or  natural 
feelings. 

"  And  finally,  my  friends,  a  painful  defect  shows  itself 
in  the  want  of  a  proper  unity  between  the  parents.  One 
parent  scolds  when  he  ought  to  administer  solemn  but  affec- 
tionate rebukes ;  while  the  other  parent  takes  the  child's 
part,  and  makes  an  apology  for  it.  One  of  the  parents  cor- 
rects in  wrath ;  the  other  interferes,  and  pities  the  '  poor 
child,'  and  insists~that  it  shall  not  be  corrected.  The  child 
thus  creates  an  insurrection  in  the  family,  and  contrives  to 
escape  in  the  unseemly  brawl.  The  result  is,  that  he  laughs 
at  the  weakness  of  both  parents,  and  soon  begins  to  set  pa- 
rental authority  at  defiance." 

While  the  pastor  was  uttering  the  last  three  specimens 
of  parental  delinquency  in  the  manner  of  conducting  family 
discipline,  the  elder  and  his  wife,  having  turned  their  eyes 
mutually  on  each  other  with  more  of  sorrow  than  reproach, 
began  to  testify  their  unaffected  grief.  They  were  both 
bathed  in  tears.  It  had  occurred  to  them  that  this  was  the 
main  origin  and  source  of  the  evil  which  they  were  now 
bitterly  deploring. 

Towards  evening  the  pastor,  previous  to  his  departure, 
took  some  pains  to  find  out  the  youth ;  and  bringing  him  in, 
placed  him  by  his  father's  side,  and  addressed  another  of 


THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  21 

his  pastoral  admonitions  to  him.  There  was  a  dignity  in 
the  pastor's  manner  which  seldom  failed  to  command  the 
awe  and  attention  of  this  young  man,  when  in  his  common 
moods.  It  is  true,  he  had  insulted  him  in  the  field,  but  i' 
was  in  a  gust  of  passion,  which  was  now,  for  a  season  at 
least,  soothed  into  a  calm.  But  the  pastor  knew  not  the 
depth  of  that  youth's  depravity.  He  was  silent,  but  unsub- 
dued, 

The  pastor  commenced  his  address  to  him  in  a  tone  of 
unaffected  tenderness,  while  he  sought  to  conceal  the  tears 
which  coursed  down  his  cheeks ;  but  it  had  no  effect 
on  him.  He  rose  by  degrees  into  the  most  touching  pa- 
thos, as  he  addressed  himself  to  the  youth's  conscience. 
Then  he  spread  out  before  his  mind  the  terrors  of  the 
law  and  the  majesty  of  the  Almighty  ;  and  told  him  of 
the  coming  hour  of  death,  of  judgment,  and  an  eternal 
retribution. 

"  My  poor  boy !"  cried  the  pastor,  with  the  utmost  ten- 
derness, "  I  will  not  fail  to  tell  thee  thy  duties,  whether  thou 
wilt  hear,  or  whether  thou  wilt  forbear.  It  is  the  command 
of  God  to  cherish  in  thy  soul  the  principle  of  filial  affection, 
'-  Hearken  to  thy  father  that  begat  thee,  and  despise  not  thy 
mother  when  she  is  old.'  And  remember,  my  child,  that 
the  basis  of  this  affection  and  veneration  which  you  owe 
your  parents,  is  a  holy  veneration  of  God.  And  O,  were 
there  a  prindple  of  piety  towards  God  in  your  heart,  you 
would  not  thus  break  the  hearts  of  your  parents.  In  pro- 
portion as  a  child  has  the  fear  of  God  before  his  eyes, 
he  is  dutiful  and  affectionate.  And  in  proportion  as  the 
fear  of  God  is  banished  from  the  mind,  the  child  is  unnat- 
ural, stubborn,  and  rebellious.  The  drunkard  and  the 
gambler  exhibit  a  mournful  evidence  of  this :  they  would 
shuffle  the  implements  of  their  folly  and  crime  at  a  father'3 
death-bed  ;  they  would  make  their  last  stake  on  a  mother's 
coffin ! 

"In  addition  to  filial  affection,  T  charge  you  to  render  a 

Eleg.  Nir.  ]  1 


22  THE    SPOILED    CHILD. 

corresponding  reverence  and  honor :  carry  it  in  all  your 
looks ;  be  courteous,  gentle,  and  kind  ;  shun  petulance  and 
the  distressing  spirit  of  contradiction,  even  when  you  may 
be  confident  that  you  are  in  the  right.  Never  utter  a  dis- 
respectful word  of  them  to  others :  he  who  can  do  this, 
even  when  they  are  in  error,  lessens  the  dignity  of  his  family, 
and  detracts  from  his  own  honor.  Like  the  pious  sons  of 
Noah,  always  throw  a  veil  over  their  frailties  and  failings; 
and  always  be  ready  to  defend  them  from  the  tongue  of 
slander.  And  in  a  particular  manner  show  the  substan- 
tial evidence  of  your  filial  reverence  and  honor,  by  a  dig- 
nified deportment  before  all  men,  in  your  intercourse 
with  the  world.  I  would  not  ask  a  higher  compliment 
from  a  child  of  mine  than  this,  I  mean  as  it  regards  tem- 
poral honors. 

"  In  addition  to  this,  my  child,  God  enjoins  it  on  you  to 
render  to  your  parents  a  prompt  filial  obedience  in  all  things. 
Always  lend  a  willing  ear  to  them  in  all  their  instructions. 
Yield  up  your  heart  to  their  injunctions  promptly.  Humble 
yourself  under  their  admonitions  and  reproofs.  Bow  down 
with  filial  submission  under  their  corrections,  whether  ex- 
pressed in  words,  or  in  a  temporary  exile  from  their  pres- 
ence, or  by  the  rod  of  correction.  Consult  with  the,m 
frankly,  and  make  them  your  counsellors  and  guides ; 
especially  in  matters  of  such  importance  as  your  establish- 
ment in  life,  the  choice  of  your  employment  and  business, 
the  choice  of  your  company  and  companions,  and  in  a 
special  manner,  your  early  attachments  and  choice  of  a 
companion,  and  in  all  your  spiritual  concerns. 

"  And,  finally,  fail  not  to  give  them  endearing  evidences 
of  your  filial  gratitude.  This  includes  in  it,  love  for  the 
benefits  received,  and  a  high  value  put  on  them,  on  account 
of  their  proceeding  from  persons  beloved  and  dear :  it  in- 
cludes affection  to  the  persons  of  the  donors,  joy  at  the 
reception  of  favors,  and  a  prompt  disposition  to  render  back 
what  it  can  in  return  for  them. 


THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  23 

"  And  now,  young  man,  these  duties  are  enjoined  by  the 
awful  authority  of  God  speaking  to  you  in  his  holy  word, 
and  by  the  mouth  of  your  honored  parents ;  and  enforced 
by  the  captivating  example  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  towards 
his  mother  in  early  life,  and  as,  in  a  most  touching  manner^ 
while  expiring  on  the  cross,  he  recommended  her,  in  his 
last  moments,  to  the  beloved  disciple,  with  whom  she  should 
find  reverence,  affection,  and  a  home  !  John  19  :  25,  26. 
Moreover,  God  has  enforced  this  duty  by  a  promise  of  long 
life  and  prosperity  ;  and  when  this  duty  is  rendered  by  faith 
and  love  to  God's  authority,  it  receives  its  eternal  reward  in 
the  heavens.  On  the  contrary,  hear  the  denunciations  of 
Heaven  against  the  rebellious  and  wicked  child  :  '  Cursed 
be  he  that  setteth  light  by  his  father  or  his  mother :  and  all 
the  people  shall  say,  Amen.'  Deut.  27:  16.  'The  eye 
that  mocketh  at  his  father,  and  despiseth  to  obey  his  mother, 
the  ravens  of  the  valley  shall  pick  it  out,  and  the  young 
eagles  shall  eat  it.'  Prov.  30  :  17.  Ah  !  young  man,  look 
on  these  weeping  parents,  and  say,  can  you  dare  pursue 
the  course  which  will  bring  down  their  gray  hairs  with 
sorrow  to  the  grave  V 

Having  finished  his  admonitions  he  kneeled  down  with 
the  afflicted  parents,  and  uttered  a  fervent  prayer  for  them, 
while  he  did  not  forget  in  his  holy  wrestlings  their  poor 
prodigal  son  ;  for  he  felt  that  he  had  received  his  ministry 
of  the  Lord,  and  watched  for  souls  as  one  who  knew  he 
was  soon  to  be  called  to  give  his  last  account — even  for 
those  who  might  be  lost,  as  well  as  for  those  who  should  be 
saved ! 


The  writer  of  this  Tract  succeeded  that  venerable  min- 
ister in  the  pastoral  charge  of  the  church  of  B ;  and 

when  he  came  into  the  charge,  the  pastor,  and  Mr.  C,  and 
nis  wife  also,  had  all  departed  this  life.      They  all  died  in 


24  THE    SPOILED    CHILD. 

great  peace  and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost.  Mr.  C.  died  first, 
and  shortly  after  him  his  wife,  after  closing  their  often-re- 
newed and  solemn  entreaties  and  admonitions  to  their  only 
son,  to  return  to  the  Lord  God  of  his  fathers,  and  avoid 
the  miseries  of  the  second  death  ;  and  enforcing  these 
admonitions  with  many  tears,  and  by  all  the  solemnities 
of  their  trial  and  experience  of  a  dying  bed  !  The  pastor 
had  accepted  the  invitation  to  take  on  him  the  presidency 
of  a  college,  and  died"  in  a  few  months  after  entering  on  his 
official  duties. 

John  C ,  the  son,  was  the  husband  of  an  amiable 

lady,  and  the  father  of  several  beautiful  children,  when  I 
first  visited  his  mansion.  He  had  been,  for  a  season,  re- 
formed, to  appearance  at  least ;  and  had  sustained  a  tolera- 
bly decent  character  for  about  a  year  after  he  had  been 
married  to  his  excellent  wife.  But  now  he  had  added  the 
crime  of  a  boasted  and  obstinate  infidelity  to  the  most  dis- 
gusting habits  of  intemperance.  And  having  once  returned 
to  them,  his  latter  end  was  worse  than  the  beginning.  He 
was  now  a  miserable  and  degraded  man,  lost  to  all  self- 
respect,  and  reckless  of  character  and  public  opinion  ;  his 
wife,  once  the  most  beautiful  and  happy  woman  in  the  val- 
ley, was  now  a  broken-hearted  and  haggard  being  ;  and 
his  own  children,  to  complete  his  misery  and  degradation, 
fled  at  his  approach,  and  hid  themselves  from  his  presence. 
His  fine  estate  was  now  involved  in  debt,  and  every  thing 
around  him  indicated  the  condition  of  one  fast  sinking  into 
ruin.  His  person,  formerly  athletic  and  handsome,  ex- 
hibited a  revolting  spectacle.  He  had  been  visited  with 
several  attacks  of  the  delirium  tremens,  or  the  drunkard's 
b'ain-fever,  and  yet  he  would  daily  drink  incredible  quan- 
tries  of  the  poisonous  liquid  which  was  drowning  him  in 
perdition ! 

I  remember  as  distinctly  as  if  it  had  been  only  yesterday, 
vhe  last  visit  which  I  paid  him.  I  was  accompanied  by  an 
elder  of  the  church,  who  had  for  some  years  filled  the  place 


THE    SPOILED   CHILD.  26 

of  his  venerable  father.  He  received  us  kindly ;  he  wag 
sober,  for  it  was  rather  early  :  he  sat  down  on  my  left  side, 
the  elder  on  the  other  ;  his  meek  and  humble  wife,  with  her 
three  pretty  little  children,  casting  anxious  and  sorrowful 
looks  at  their  father,  placed  themselves  over  against  us.  A 
deep  and  painful  silence  prevailed  for  some  minutes.  Every 
thing  about  the  chamber,  and  about  the  house,  on  which  the 
eye  could  rest,  exhibited  tokens  of  desolation  and  wretched- 
ness. This  was  the  inheritance  of  a  spoiled  child — the 
house  of  a  drunkard  and  infidel ! 

"  Will  you,  sir,  bring  me  your  father's  Bible  ?"  A 
smile,  not  of  pleasure,  but  that  of  the  scorner,  played  over 
his  face ;  nevertheless,  he  rose  and  brought  it  out,  covered 
with  dust  and  cobwebs. 

This  led  me  to  notice  the  very  different  use  which  the 
good  old  man,  his  father,  made  of  that  book,  and  the  use 
which  all  good  men  would  make  of  it.  He  smiled  con- 
temptuously, but  said  nothing,  for  his  wife  cast  a  beseech- 
ing look  on  him,  tempered  with  her  winning  sweetness,  ren- 
dered more  touching  by  her  unaffected  sorrow. 

It  was  a  long  visit  we  paid  him ;  and  we  endeavored, 
by  the  help  of  divine  grace,  to  improve  our  time.  We  set 
before  him,  after  reading  the  nineteenth  psalm,  a  brief  out- 
line of  the  authenticity  and  divinity  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  ; 
and  begged  respectfully  his  attention  to  it.  "  Ah  !  sir,  this 
points  out  to  you  the  good  old  way  in  which  your  fathers 
walked,  and  found  rest  and  happiness  :  I  appeal  to  your 
own  experience  if  you  have  ever  tasted  one  drop  of  happi- 
ness or  peace  in  your  wariderings  from  these  ways."  He 
turned  away  from  the  discussion  with  a  sally  of  ridicule  ,* 
yet  in  that  sarcastic  laugh  a  child  might  have  seen  that 
he  felt  miserable  in  his  soul.  His  wit  had  pierced  his  own 
conscience. 

We  turned  to  another  subject — the  nature  and  the  worth 
of  the  immortal  soul.  "  O  let  the  son  of  your  father  re- 
member the  words  of  Him  whose  lips  never  spoke  false- 

vol.  I.  11* 


26  THE    SPOILED    CHILD. 

hood,  even  Him  whose  lips,  as  the  Lord  God  of  Hosts  liveth, 
Will  ere  long  judge  you  at  his  tribunal !  O  hear  his  words  : 
'  What  is  a  man  profited,  though  he  should  gain  the  whole 
world,  and  lose  his  own  soul  ?  or  what  shall  a  man  give  in 
exchange  for  his  soul  V  O  what  will  you  feel — what  will 
you  say — what  will  you  do,  when  you  are  in  the  last  awful 
conflict — in  the  act  of  leaving  this  world  ! — and  soon — soon 
will  you  be  summoned  to  leave  it !  As  the  Lord  liveth, 
and  as  your  soul  liveth,  there  is  only  a  step  between  you 
and  death  !  O  what  will  you  feel — what  will  you  say — 
what  will  you  do,  when  the  eternal  world  in  all  its  fearful 
realities,  in  all  its  overpowering  glories  and  terrors,  shall 
burst  on  your  astonished  and  disembodied  soul  !  O  hear 
me — return  to  the  Lord  God  of  your  father  !  I  beseech 
you,  by  Him  who  loved  us,  and  gave  himself  for  us — by 
him  who  died  on  the  cross  for  us — by  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  I  beseech  you,  return  to  your  God !  By  the  mem 
ory  of  that  dear  old  man  your  father — by  the  memory  of 
his  tears,  and  prayers,  and  vows — by  the  memory  of  that 
dear  saint  of  God,  now  in  heaven,  your  mother,  who  bare 
you,  and  nursed  you  in  her  bosom,  and  wept  and  prayed 
over  you — whose  last  prayer  and  sigh  were  breathed  from 
her  dying  lips  for  you — O  return  to  your  God ;  and  break 
off  your  sins  by  repentance  and  faith  in  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ !" 

He  burst  into  tears,  and  placing  his  hands  on  his 
face,  bowed  himself  down,  his  face  on  his  knees,  and  wept 
aloud. 

We  all  kneeled  down  and  prayed.  The  miserable 
man  kneeled  close  by  me.  My  heart  was  utterly  over- 
come :  I  poured  out  my  soul  in  almost  incoherent  words : 
I  implored  the  outpouring  of  the  Holy  Ghost  on  him,  his 
wife,  and  his  dear  little  children.  Every  one  of  us  wept, 
the  very  children  sobbed,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  scene. 
The  floor  where  the  prodigal  son  bowed  his  head  was  wet 
with  his  streaming  tears. 


THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  27 

The  sun  was  now  setting :  we  took  our  leave  of  him 
with  a  cordial  embrace.  He  led  us  to  our  horses,  and  on 
parting  besought  us  to  visit  him  soon  again. 

But,  alas !  it  was  our  last  interview  with  him.  I  never 
saw  him  more.  I  was  called  into  a  neighboring  State  on 
business  of  the  churches,  and  I  was  absent  two  weeks. 
The  first  news  I  learned,  as  I  alighted  at  my  own  door,  on 
my  return,  was  the  appalling  intelligence  that  poor  John 

C WAS    DEAD,    AND    BURIED  ! 

I  learned  in  brief  his  last  moments  from  the  elder  who 
had  accompanied  me  on  my  last  visit,  and  who  had  seen 

him  when  dying.     Poor  C was  attacked  with  fits  :  he 

raved  in  his  deliriums.  At  intervals  he  recovered  his 
senses,  and  for  a  season  was  somewhat  composed  in  his 
mind,  but  expressed  deep  compunctions  and  sorrow  for  his 
evil  ways  and  doings.  When  he  felt  himself  dying,  he 
became  awfully  alarmed.  He  seemed  actually  frantic. 
The  very  bed  shook  under  him ;  as  if  with  supernatural 
strength,  he  tried  to  raise  himself  up  ;  and  shrieked  out 
for  some  moments,  "  O  Lord  Jesus,  have  mercy  on  me  ! 
God  of  my  father,  have  mercy  on  me  !  O  Christ,  have 
mercy  on  me  !     O  curses,  curses  on  the  head  of  General 

,  who  seduced  me  from  the  ways  of  my  father's  God 

into  his  infidel  ways  !  Curses  on  my  vicious  companions, 
who  taught  me  to  break  the  Sabbath,  and  to  dishonor  and 
disobey  my  father  and  mother ;  and  led  me  into  taverns, 
instead  of  the  church  of  my  fathers !  O  mercy,  mercy, 
Lord,  on  me,  a  poor  miserable  outcast !"  Thus  he  contin- 
ued wailing,  sometimes  crying  for  mercy,  and  frequently 
uttering  fearful  imprecations.  In  a  few  hours,  during 
i  which  there  was  nothing  but  horror  and  distraction  in  the 
family,  his  strength,  though  the  strength  of  a  giant,  became 
utterly  exhausted ■;  and  his  spirit,  with  an  agonizing  strug- 
gle, took  its  everlasting  flight ! 


28  THE    SPOILED    CHILD. 

This,  as  reported  to  me,  was  the  end  of  the  spoiled 
child.  In  these  solemn  facts  we  set  up  a  beacon,  to  give 
an  awful  warning  to  parents  of  the  fatal  rock  on  which 
they  also  may  strike.  "  Avoid  it,  pass  not  by  it,  turn 
from  it,  and  pass  away  !"  "  O  let  us  hear  and  fear,  and  dc 
no  presumptuous  sin !"  Let  us  labor  for  the  conversion 
of  our  dear  children,  like  those  who  feel  that  they  are 
laboring  to  "  pluck  brands  from  the  devouring  fire  !"    We 

pronounce  not  on  the  final  destiny  of  poor  John  C ; 

but  who  of  us,  I  beseech  you,  would  wish  our  children 
to  follow  his  course  of  life,  or  to  die  his  appalling  death  ? 


NARRATIVE   VI. 

THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT. 

AN  AUTHENTIC  NARRATIVE— ABRIDGED. 

BY  REV.  LEGH  RICHMOND. 


During  a  residence  of  some  years'  continuance  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  sea,  an  officer  in  the  navy  called  upon 
me  and  stated  that  he  had  just  taken  a  lodging  in  the  parish 
for  his  wife  and  children,  and  that  he  had  an  African  whom 
he  had  kept  three  years  in  his  service.  "The  lad  is  a  de- 
serving fellow,"  said  the  officer,  "  and  he  has  a  great  desire 
to  be  baptized ;  I  have  promised  him  to  ask  you  to  do  it  for 
him,  if  you  have  no  objections." 

"  Does  he  know  any  thing,"  I  replied,  "  of  the  principles 
of  the  Christian  religion  ?" 

VOL.  II. 


2  THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT. 

"  O,  yes,  I  am  sure  he  does,"  answered  the  captain ; 
"  for  he  talks  a  great  deal  about  it  in  the  kitchen,  and  often 
gets  laughed  at  for  his  pains ;  but  he  takes  it  all  very  pa- 
tiently." 

"  Does  he  behave  well  as  your  servant  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  he  does  :  he  is  as  honest"  and  civil  a  fellow  as 
ever  came  aboard  a  ship,  or  lived  in  a  house." 

"  Was  he  always  so  well-behaved?" 

"  No,"  said  the  officer ;  "  when  I  first  had  him  he  was 
often  very  unruly  and  deceitful ;  but  for  the  last  two  years 
he  has  been  quite  like  another  creature." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  him,  and  think  it 
probable  I  shall  wish  to  go  through  a  course  of  instruction 
and  examination ;  during  which  I  shall  be  able  to  form  a 
judgment  how  far  it  will  be  right  to  admit  him  to  the  ordi- 
nance of  Jbaptism.     Can  he  read  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  master ;  "  he  has  been  taking  great 
pains  to  learn  to  read  for  some  time  past,  and  can  make 
out  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  pretty  well,  as  my  maid-ser- 
vant informs  me.  He  speaks  English  better  than  many 
of  his  countrymen,  but  you  will  find  it  a  little  broken. 
When  will  it  be  convenient  that  I  should  send  him  over  to 
you  ?" 

"To-morrow  afternoon,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"  He  shall  come  to  you  about  four  o'clock,  and  you  shall 
see  what  you  can  make  of  him." 

With  this  promise  he  took  his  leave.  I  felt  glad  of  an 
opportunity  of  instructing  a  native  of  that  land  whose  wrongs 
and  injuries  had  often  caused  me  to  sigh  and  mourn. 

At  the  appointed  hour  my  African  disciple  arrived.  He 
was  a  very  young  looking  man,  with  a  sensible,  lively,  and 
pleasing  turn  of  countenance. 

I  desired  him  to  sit  down,  and  said,  "Your  master  in- 
forms me  that  you  wish  to  have  some  conversation  with  me 
respecting  Christian  baptism  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  me  very  much  wish  to  be  a  Christian." 

"Why  do  you  wish  so?" 


THE  AFRJCAiN  SERVANT.  3 

"  Because  me  know  that  Christian  go  to  heaven  when 
he  die." 

"  How  long  have  you  had  that  wish  ?"  I  said. 

"  Ever  since  me  hear  one  good  minister  preach  in  Amer- 
ica, two  years  ago." 

"  Where  were  you  born  ?" 

"  In  Africa.  Me  was  very  little  boy  when  me  was  made 
slave  by  the  white  men." 

"How  was  that?" 

"  Me  left  father  and  mother  one  day  at  home  to  go  to  get 
shells  by  the  sea-shore  ;  and,  as  I  was  stooping  down  to 
gather  them  up,  some  white  sailors  came  out  of  a  boat  and 
took  me  away.     Me  never  see  father  nor  mother  again." 

"  And  what  became  of  you  then  ?" 

"  Me  was  put  into  ship  and  brought  to  Jamaica,  and  sold 
to  a  massa,  who  keep  me  in  his  house  to  serve  him  some 

years ;  when,  about  three  years  ago,  Captain  W ,  my 

massa  that  spoke  to  you,  bought  me  to  be  his  servant  on 
board  his  ship.  And  he  be  good  massa ;  and  me  live  with 
him  ever  since." 

"  And  what  thoughts  had  you  about  your  soul  all  that 
time  before  you  went  to  America?"  I  asked  him. 

"  Me  no  care  for  my  soul  at  all  before  then.  No  man 
teach  me  a  word  about  my  soul." 

"  Well,  now  tell  me  farther  about  what  happened  to  you 
in  America.     How  came  you  there  ?" 

"  My  massa  take  me  there  in  a  ship,  and  he  stop  there 
one  month ;  and  then  me  hear  the  good  minister." 

"  And  what  did  that  minister  say  ?" 

"He  said  me  was  a  great  sinner." 

"  What,  did  he  speak  to  you  in  particular  ?" 

"  Yes,  me  think  so;  for  there  was  a  great  many  to  hear 
him,  but  he  tell  them  all  about  me." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?"  • 

"  He  say  about  all  the  things  that  were  in  my  heart.,, 

"  What  things  ?" 

"  My  sin,  my  ignorance,  my  know  nothing,  my  believe 


4  THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT. 

nothing.  The  good  minister  made  me  see  that  me  think 
nothing  good,  nor  do  nothing  good." 

"  And  what  else  did  he  tell  you  ?" 

"  He  sometime  look  me  in  the  face,  and  say,  that  Jesus 
Christ  came  to  die  for  sinners,  poor  black  sinners  as  well  as 
white  sinners.  Me  thought  this  was  very  good,  very  good 
indeed,  to  do  so  for  wicked  sinner." 

"  And  what  made  you  think  this  was  all  spoken  to  you 
in  particular  ?" 

"  Because  me  sure  no  such  wicked  sinner  as  me  in  all 
the  place.     The  good  minister  must  know  me  was  there." 

"  And  what  did  you  think  about  yourself  while  he 
preached  about  Jesus  Christ  ?" 

"  Sir,  me  was  very  much  afraid  when  he  said  the  wicked 
must  be  turned  into  hell  fire.  For  me  felt  that  me  was  very 
wicked  sinner,  and  that  make  me  cry.  And  he  talk  much 
about  the  love  of  Christ  to  sinners,  and  that  make  me  cry 
more.  And  me  thought  me  must  love  Jesus  Christ ;  but  me 
not  know  how,  and  that  make  me  cry  again." 

"Did  you  hear  more  sermons--than  one  during  that 
month?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  massa  give  me  leave  to  go  three  times,  and 
all  the  times  me  wanted  to  love  Jesus  more,  and  do  what  Je- 
sus said ;  but  my  heart  seem  sometime  hard  like  a  stone." 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  any  preaching  since  that  time  V 

"  Never,  till  me  hear  sermon  at  this  church  last  Sunday, 
and  then  me  long  to  be  baptized  in  Jesus'  name." 

"  And  what  have  been  your  thoughts  all  the  time  since 
you  first  heard  those  sermons  in  America ;  did  you  tell  any 
body  then  what  you  felt  ?" 

"  No ;  me  speak  to  nobody  but  to  God.  The  good  min- 
ister say  that  God  hear  the  cry  of  the  poor ;  so  me  cry  to 
God,  and  he  hear  me.  And  me  often  think  about  Jesus 
Christ,  and  wish  to  be  Wke  him." 

"Can  you  read?" 

"  A  little." 

u  Who  taught  you  to  read  ?" 


THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT.  5 

"  God  teach  me  to  read." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  saying  so  ?" 

"  God  give  me  desire  to  read,  and  that  make  reading 
easy.  Massa  give  me  Bible,  and  one  sailor  show  me  the 
letters ;  and  so  me  learn  to  read  by  myself  with  God's  good 
help." 

"  And  what  do  you  read  in  the  Bible  ?" 

"  O,  me  read  all  about  Jesus  Christ,  and  how  he  loved 
sinners ;  and  wicked  men  killed  him,  and  he  died  and  came 
again  from  the  grave,  and  all  this  for  poor  negro.  And  it 
sometime  make  me  cry,  to  think  that  Christ  love  so  poor 
negro." 

"  And  what  do  the  people  say  about  your  reading  and 
praying,  and  attention  to  the  things  of  God  ?" 

"  Some  wicked  people,  that  do  not  love  Jesus  Christ,  call 
me  great  fool,  and  negro  dog,  and  black  hypocrite.  And 
that  make  me  sometime  feel  angry  ;  but  then  me  remember 
Christian  must  not  be  angry.  Jesus  Christ  was  called  ugly, 
black  names,  and  he  was  quiet  as  a  lamb ;  and  so  then  me 
remember  Jesus  Christ,  and  me  say  nothing  again  to  them." 

I  was  much  delighted  with  the  simplicity  and  apparent 
sincerity  of  this  poor  African ;  and  wished  to  ascertain  what 
measure  of  light  and  feeling  he  possessed  on  a  few  leading 
points.  St.  Paul's  summary  of  religion*  occurring  to  me, 
I  said,  "  Tell  me  what  is  faith  ?  What  is  your  own  faith  1 
What  do  you  believe  about  Jesus  Christ,  and  your  own 
soul ?" 

"  Me  believe,"  said  he,  "  that  Jesus  Christ  came  into  the 
world  to  save  sinners  •  and  though  me  be  chief  of  sinners, 
Jesus  will  save  me,  though  me  be  only  poor  black  negro." 

"  What  is  your  hope  ?  What  do  you  hope  for,  both  as 
to  this  life  and  that  which  is  to  come  ?" 

"  Me  hope  Christ  Jesus  will  take  good  care  of  me,  and 
keep  me  from  sin  and  harm,  while  me  live  here ;  and  me 

*  Now  abideth  faith,  hope,  charity,  these  three ;  but  the 
greatest  of  these  is  charity.     1  Cor.  13 :  13. 

Eleg.  Nar.  12 


Q  THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT. 

hope,  when  me  come  to  die,  to  go  and  live  with  him  always, 
and  never  die  again." 

"  What  are  your  thoughts  about  Christian  love  or  char- 
ity ?     I  mean,  whom  and  what  do  you  most  love  ?" 

"  Me  love  God  the  Father,  because  he  was  so  good  to 
send  his  Son.  Me  love  Jesus  Christ,  because  he  die  for  poor 
sinner.  Me  love  all  men,  black  men  and  white  men  too ; 
for  God  made  them  all.  Me  love  good  Christian  people, 
because  Jesus  love  them,  and  they  love  Jesus." 

Such  was  my  first  conversation  with  this  young  disciple ; 
I  rejoiced  in  the  prospect  of  receiving  him  into  the  church, 
agreeably  to  his  desire.  I  wished,  however,  to  converse 
somewhat  further,  and  inquire  more  minutely  into  his  con- 
duct, and  promised  to  ride  over  and  see  him  in  a  few  days, 
at  his  master's  lodgings. 

When  he  was  gone,  I  thought  within  myself,  God  hath 
indeed  redeemed  souls,  by  the  blood  of  his  Son,  "  out  of 
every  kindred,  and  tongue,  and  people,  and  nation."  It  is  a 
happy  thought,  that  "  Ethiopia  shall  soon  stretch  forth  her 
hands  unto  God.  Sing  unto  God,  ye  kingdoms  of  the  earth  ; 
O  sing  praises  unto  the  Lord  !" 

Not  many  days  after  the  first  interview  with  my  African 
disciple,  I  went  from  home  on  horseback  with  the  design  of 
visiting  and  conversing'with  him  again  at  his  master's  house, 
which  was  situated  in  a  part  of  the  parish  near  four  miles 
distant  from  my  own.  The  road  which  I  took  lay  over  a 
lofty  down  or  hill,  which  commands  a  prospect  of  scenery 
seldom  equalled  for  beauty  and  magnificence.  It  gave  birth 
to  silent,  but  instructive  contemplation. 

As  I  pursued  the  meditations  which  this  magnificent  and 
varied  scenery  excited  in  my  mind,  I  approached  the  edge 
of  a  tremendous  perpendicular  cliff  with  which  the  down 
terminates  ;  I  dismounted  from  my  horse  and  tied  it  to  a 
bush.  The  breaking  of  the  waves  against  the  foot  of  the 
cliff,  at  so  great  a  distance  beneath  me,  produced  an  in- 
cessant and  pleasing  murmur.     The  sea-gulls  were  flying 


THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT.  7 

between  the  top  of  the  cliff  where  I  stood  and  the  rocks 
below,  attending  upon  their  nests  built  in  the  holes  of  the 
cliff.  The  whole  scene,  in  every  direction,  was  grand  and 
impressive ;  it  was  suitable  to  devotion.  The  Creator  ap- 
peared in  the  works  of  his  creation,  and  called  upon  the 
creature  to  honor  and  adore.  To  the  believer  this  exercise 
is  doubly  delightful.  He  possesses  a  right  to  the  enjoyments 
of  nature  and  providence,  as  well  as  to  the  privileges  of 
grace.  His  title-deed  runs  thus:  "All  things  are  yours, 
whether  Paul,  or  Apollos,  or  Cephas,  or  the  world,  or  things 
present,  or  things  to  come ;  all  are  yours,  and  ye  are  Christ's, 
and  Christ  is  God's." 

I  cast  my  eye  downwards  a  little  to  the  left,  towards  a 
small  cove,  the  shore  of  which  consists  of  fine  hard  sand. 
It  is  surrounded  by  fragments  of  rock,  chalk  cliffs,  and  steep 
banks  of  broken  earth.  Shut  out  from  human  intercourse 
and  dwellings,  it  seems  formed  for  retirement  and  contem- 
plation. On  one  of  these  rocks  I  unexpectedly  observed  a 
man  sitting  with  a  book,  which  he  was  reading.  The  place 
was  near  two  hundred  yards  perpendicularly  below  me; 
but  I  soon  discovered  by  his  dress,  and  by  the  black  color  of 
his  features,  contrasted  with  the  white  rocks  beside  him,  that 
it  was  no  other  than  my  African  disciple,  with,  as  I  doubted 
not,  a  Bible  in  his  hand.  I  rejoiced  at  this  unlooked-for 
opportunity  of  meeting  him  in  so  solitary  and  interesting  a 
situation.  I  descended  a  steep  bank,  winding  by  a  kind  of 
rude  staircase,  formed  by  fishermen  and  shepherd's  boys 
in  the  side  of  the  cliff  down  to  the  shore. 

He  was  intent  on  his  book,  and  did  not  perceive  me  till 
I  approached  very  near  to  him. 

"  William,  is  that  you  ?" 

"  Ah  !  massa,  me  very  glad  to  see  you.  How  came  massa 
into  this  place?  Methought  nobody  here  but  only  God  and  me." 

"  I  was  coming  to  your  master's  house  to  see  you,  and 
rode  round  by  this  way  for  the  sake  of  the  prospect.  I  often 
come  here  in  fine  weather  to  look  at  the  sea  and  the  ship- 
ping.    Is  that  your  Bible  ?" 


g  THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT. 

"  Yes,  sir,  this  is  my  dear,  good  Bible." 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  I,  "  to  see  you  so  well  employed ;  i 
is  a  good  sign,  William." 

"  Yes,  massa,  a  sign  that  God  is  good  to  me ;  but  me 
never  good  to  God." 

"How  so?" 

"  Me  never  thank  him  enough ;  me  never  pray  to  him 
enough ;  me  never  remember  enough  who  give  me  all  these 
good  things.  Massa,  me  afraid  my  heart  very  bad.  Me 
wish  me  was  like  you." 

"  Like  me,  William  ?  Why,  you  are  like  me,  a  poor 
helpless  sinner,  that  must,  like  yourself,  perish  in  his  sins, 
unless  God  of  his  infinite  mercy  and  grace  pluck  him  as  a 
brand  from  the  burning,  and  make  him  an  instance  of  dis* 
tinguishing  love  and  favor.  There  is  no  difference ;  we 
have  both  come  short  of  the  glory  of  God  :  all  have  sinned." 

"  No,  me  no  like  you,  massa ;  me  think  nobody  like  me, 
nobody  feel  such  a  heart  as  me." 

"  Yes,  William,  your  feelings,  I  am  persuaded,  are  like 
those  of  every  truly  convinced  soul  who  sees  the  exceeding 
sinfulness  of  sin,  and  the  greatness  of  the  price  which  Christ 
Jesus  paid  for  the  sinner's  ransom.  You  can  say,  in  the 
words  of  the  hymn, 

1  I  the  chief  of  sinners  am, 
But  Jesus  died  for  me.'" 

"  O  yes,  sir,  me  believe  that  Jesus  died  for  poor  negro. 
What  would  become  of  poor  wicked  negro,  if  Christ  no  die 
for  him  ?  But  he  die  for  the  chief  of  sinners,  and  that  make 
my  heart  sometime  quite  glad." 

"  What  part  of  the  Bible  were  you  reading,  William  ?" 
"  Me  read  how  the  man  on  the  cross  spoke  to  Christ,  and 
Christ  spoke  to  him.  Now,  that  man's  prayer  just  do  for  me 
'Lord,  remember  me  ;'  Lord,  remember  poor  negro  sinner : 
this  is  my  prayer  every  morning,  and  sometime  at  night 
too :  "when  me  cannot  think  of  many  words  then  me  say  the 
same  again,  Lord,  remember  poor  negro  sinner." 


THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT.  9 

"  And  be  assured,  William,  the  Lord  hears  that  prayer. 
He  pardoned  and  accepted  the  thief  upon  the  cross,  and  he 
will  not  reject  you ;  he  will  in  no  wise  cast  out  any  that 
come  to  him." 

"  No,  sir,  I  believe  it ;  but  there  is  so  much  sin  in  my 
heart,  it  make  me  afraid,  and  sorry.  Massa,  do  you  see 
these  limpets,*  how  fast  they  stick  to  the  rocks  here  ?  Just 
so  sin  stick  fast  to  my  heart." 

"  It  may  be  so,  William  ;  but  take  another  comparison  : 
do  you  cleave  to  Jesus  Christ  by  faith  in  his  death  and 
righteousness,  as  those  limpets  cleave  to  the  rock,  and 
neither  seas  nor  storms  shall  separate  you  from  his  love." 

"That  is  just  what  me  want." 

"  Tell  me,  William,  is  not  that  very  sin  which  you 
speak  of,  a  burden  to  you  ?  You  do  not  love  it :  you  would 
be  glad  to  obtain  strength  against  it,  and  to  be  freed  from  it, 
would  you  not  V9 '  * 

"  O  yes ;  me  give  all  this  world,  if  me  had  it,  to  be 
without  sin." 

"  Come,  then,  and  welcome,  to  Jesus  Christ,  my  brother ; 
his  blood  cleanseth  from  all  sin.  He  gave  himself  as  a 
ransom  for  sinners.  He  hath  borne  our  griefs,  and  carried 
our  sorrows.  He  was  wounded  for  our  transgressions,  he 
was  bruised  for  our  iniquities ;  the  chastisement  of  our 
peace  was  upon  him  ;  and  with  his  stripes  we  are  healed. 
The  Lord  hath  laid  on  him  the  iniquity  of  us  all.  Come,* 
freely  come  to  Jesus,  the  Saviour  of  sinners." 

"  Yes,  massa,"  said  the  poor  fellow  weeping,  "  me  will 
come,  but  me  come  very  slow  ;  very  slow,  massa ;  me  want 
to  run,  me  want  to  fly.  Jesus  is  very  good  to  poor  negro, 
to  send  you  to  tell  him  all  this." 

"  But  this  is  not  the  first  time  you  have  heard  thes 
truths." 

"  No,  sir,  they  have   been  comfort  to  my  soul  many 

*  A  kind  of  shell-fish  which  abounds  in  the  place  where  we 
vere,  and  which  sticks  to  the  rocks  with  great  force. 

12* 


IQ  THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT. 

times  since  me  hear  good  minister  preach  in  America,  as 
me  tell  you  last  week  at  your  house." 

"  Well,  now  I  hope,  William,  that  since  God  has  been  so 
graciously  pleased  to  open  your  eyes,  and  affect  your  mind 
with  such  a  great  sense  of  his  goodness,  in  giving  his  Son  to 
die  for  your  sake,  I  hope  that  you  do  endeavor  to  keep  his 
commandments ;  I  hope  you  strive  to  behave  well  to  your 
master  and  mistress,  and  fellow-servants.  He  that  is  a 
Christian  inwardly,  will  be  a  Christian  outwardly ;  he  that 
truly  and  savingly  believes  in  Christ,  will  show  his  faith  by 
his  works,  as  the  apostle  says.     Is  it  not  so,  William  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  me  want  to  do  so.  Me  want  to  be  faithful 
Me  sorry  to  think  how  bad  servant  me  was  before  the  gooe 
things  of  Jesus  Christ  come  to  my  heart.  Me  wish  to  do 
well  to  my  massa,  when  he  see  me,  and  when  he  not  see  me, 
for  me  know  God  always  see  me.  Me  know  that  if  me  sin 
against  mine  own  massa,  me  sin  against  God,  and  God  be 
very  angry  with  me.  Besides,  how  can  me  love  Christ,  if 
me  do  not  do  what  Christ  tell  me  ?  Me  love  my  fellow- 
servants,  though,  as  me  tell  you  before,  they  do  not  much 
love  me,  and  I  pray  God  to  bless  them.  And  when  they 
say  bad  things,  and  try  to  make  me  angry,  then  me  think, 
if  Jesus  Christ  were  in  poor  negro's  place,  he  would  not 
revile  and  answer  again  with  bad  words  and  temper,  but  he 
say  little,  and  pray  much.  And  so  then  me  say  nothing  at 
•all,  but  pray  God  to  forgive  them." 

The  more  I  conversed  with  this  African  convert,  the 
more  satisfactory  were  the  evidences  of  his  mind  being 
spiritually  enlightened,  and  his  heart  effectually  wrought 
upon  by  the  grace  of  God. 

The  circumstances  of  the  place  m  which  we  met  to- 
gether, contributed  much  to  the  interesting  effect  which  the 
conversation  produced  on  my  mind.  The  little  cove  or  bay 
was  beautiful  in  the  extreme.  The  air  was  calm  and  serene. 
The  sun  shone,  but  we  were  sheltered  from  its  rays  by  the 
cliffs.  One  of  these  was  stupendously  lofty  and  large.  It 
was  white  as  snow  ;  its  summit  hung  directly  over  our 


^HE  AFRICAN  SERVANT  XI 

neads.  The  sea- fowl  were  flying  around  it.  Its  whiteness 
was  occasionally  checkered  with  dark  green  masses  of 
samphire,  which  grew  there.  On  the  other  side,  and  behind 
us,  was  a  more  gradual  declivity  of  many-colored  earths, 
interspersed  with  green  patches  of  grass  and  bushes,  and 
little  streams  of  water  trickling  down  the  bank,  and  min- 
gling with  the  sea  at  the  bottom.  At  our  feet  the  wavea 
were  advancing  over  shelves  of  rocks  covered  with  a  great 
variety  of  sea- weeds,  which  swam  in  little  fragments,  and 
displayed  much  beauty  and  elegance  of  form,  as  they  were 
successively  thrown  upon  the  sand. 

Ships  of  war  and  commerce  were  seen  at  different  dis- 
tances. Fishermen  were  plying  their  trade  in  boats  nearer 
to  the  shore.  The  noise  of  the  flowing  tide,  combined  with 
the  voices  of  the  sea-gulls  over  our  heads,  and  now  and  then 
a  distant  gun  fired  from  the  ships  as  they  passed  along,  add- 
ed much  to  the  peculiar  sensations  to  which  the  scene  gave 
birth.  Occasionally  the  striking  of  oars  upon  the  waves, 
accompanied  by  the  boatman's  song,  met  the  ear.  The 
sheep  aloft  upon  the  down  sometimes  mingled  their  bleat- 
ings  with  the  other  sounds.  Thus  all  nature  seemed  to 
unite  in  impressing  an  attentive  observer's  heart  with  af- 
fecting thoughts. 

I  continued  for  a  considerable  time  in  conversation  with 
the  African,  finding  that  his  master  was  gone  from  home  for 
the  day,  and  had  given  him  liberty  for  some  hours.  I 
spoke  to  him  on  the  nature,  duty,  and  privilege  of  Christian 
baptism  ;  pointed  out  to  him  the  principles  of  the  Scriptures 
upon  that  head,  and  found  that  he  was  very  desirous  of  con- 
forming to  them.  He  appeared  to  me  to  be  well  qualified 
for  receiving  that  pledge  of  his  Redeemer's  love ;  and  I 
rejoiced  in  the  prospect  of  beholding  him  no  longer  a  "stran- 
ger and  foreigner,  but  a  fellow-citizen  with  the  saints  and 
household  of  God." 

I  was  much  pleased  with  the  affectionate  manner  in 
which  he  spoke  of  his  parents,  from  whom  he  had  been 
stolen  in  his  childhood;  and  his  wishes  that  God  might 


1 2  THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT. 

direct  them  by  some  means  to  the  knowledge  of  the  Sav 
iour. 

"  Who  knows,"  I  said,  "  but  some  of  these  ships  may  be 
carrying  a  missionary  to  the  country  where  they  live,  to 
declare  the  good  news  of  salvation  to  your  countrymen,  and 
to  your  own  dear  parents  in  particular,  if  they  are  yet 
alive." 

"  O !  my  dear  father  and  mother :  my  dear,  gracious 
Saviour,"  exclaimed  he,  leaping  from  the  ground  as  he 
spake,  "  if  thou  wilt  but  save  their  souls,  and  tell  them  what 
thou  hast  done  for  sinners — but" 

He  stopped,  and  seemed  much  affected. 

"  My  friend,"  said  I,  "  I  will  now  pray  with  you  for 
your  own  soul,  and  those  of  your  parents  also." 

"  Do,  massa,  that  is  very  good  and  kind ;  do  pray  for 
poor  negro  souls  here  and  everywhere." 

This  was  a  new  and  solemn  "  house  of  prayer."  The 
sea-sand  was  our  floor,  the  heavens  were  our  roof,  the  clifFs, 
the  rocks,  the  hills,  and  the  waves,  formed  the  walls  of  our 
chamber.  It  was  not  indeed  a  "  place  where  prayer  was 
wont  to  be  made,"  but  for  this  once  it  became  a  hallowed 
spot :  it  will  by  me  ever  be  remembered  as  such.  The 
presence  of  God  was  there.  I  prayed.  The  African  wept. 
His  heart  was  full.  I  felt  with  him,  and  could  not  but  weep 
likewise. 

The  last  day  will  show  whether  our  tears  were  not  the 
tears  of  sincerity  and  Christian  love. 

It  was  time  for  my  return ;  I  leaned  upon  his  arm,  as 
we  ascended  the  steep  cliff  in  my  way  back  to  my  horse, 
which  I  had  left  at  the  top  of  the  hill.  Humility  and 
thankfulness  were  marked  in  his  countenance.  I  leaned 
upon  his  arm  with  the  feelings  of  a  brother.  It  was  a 
relationship  I  was  happy  to  own.  I  took  him  by  the  hand 
at  parting,  appointed  one  more  interview  previous  to  the  day 
of  baptizing  him,  and  bade  him  farewell  for  the  present. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear  massa." 

M  And  you,  my  fellow-christian,  for  ever  and  ever." 


THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT.  13 

The  interesting  and  affecting  conversation  which  I  had 
with  the  African  servant,  produced  a  sensation  not  easy  to 
be  expressed.  As  I  returned  home  I  was  led  into  medita- 
tion on  the  singular  clearness  and  beauty  of  those  evidences 
of  faith  and  conversion  to  God  which  I  had  just  seen  and 
heard.  How  plainly,  I  thought,  it  appears,  that  salvation 
is  freely  by  grace,  through  faith  ;  and  that  not  of  ourselves ; 
it  is  the  gift  of  God ;  not  of  works,  lest  any  man  should 
boast.  What  but  the  Holy  Spirit,  who  is  the  Author  and 
Giver  of  the  life  of  grace,  could  have  wrought  such  a 
change  from  the  once  dark,  perverse,  and  ignorant  heathen, 
to  this  now  convinced,  enlightened,  humble,  and  believing 
Christian  ?  How  manifestly  is  the  uncontrolled  sovereignty 
of  the  divine  will  exercised  in  the  calling  and  translating  of 
sinners  from  darkness  to  light !  What  a  lesson  may  the 
nominal  Christian  of  a  civilized  country  sometimes  learn 
from  the  simple,  sincere  religion  of  a  converted  heathen ! 

I  afterwards  made  particular  inquiry  into  this  young 
man's  domestic  and  general  deportment.  Every  thing  1 
heard  was  satisfactory ;  nor  could  I  entertain  a  doubt  re- 
specting the  consistency  of  his  conduct  and  character.  I  had 
some  further  conversation  with  him,  in  the  course  of  which 
I  pursued  such  a  plan  of  scriptural  instruction  and  examina- 
tion as  I  conceived  to  be  the  most  suitable  to  his  progressive 
state  of  mind.  He  improved  much  in  reading,  carried  his 
Bible  constantly  in  his  pocket,  and  took  every  opportunity 
which  his  duty  to  his  master's  service  would  allow  for  pe- 
rusing it.  I  have  frequently  had  occasion  to  observe,  that 
among  the  truly  religious  poor  who  have  not  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  learning  to  read  in  early  youth,  a  concern  about 
the  soul,  and  desire  to  know  the  Word  of  God,  have  proved 
effectual  motives  for  their  learning  to  read  with  great  ease 
and  advantage  to  themselves  and  others.  It  was  strikingly 
so  in  the  present  case. 

I  had,  for  a  considerable  time,  been  accustomed  to  meet 
some  serious  persons  once  a  week,  in  a  cottage  at  no  great 
distance  from  the  house  where  he  lived,  for  the    urpose  of 


14  ^HE  AFRICAN  SERVANT. 

religious  conversation,  instruction,  and  prayer.  Having 
ibund  these  occasions  remarkably  useful  and  interesting  to 
myself  and  others,  I  thought  it  would  be  very  desirable  to 
take  the  African  there,  in  order  that  there  might  be  many 
witnesses  to  the  simplicity  and  sincerity  of  real  Christianity, 
as  exhibited  in  the  character  of  this  promising  young  con- 
vert. I  hoped  it  might  prove  an  eminent  means. of  grace  to 
excite  and  quicken  the  spirit  of  prayer  and  praise  among  some 
over  whose  spiritual  progress  I  was  anxiously  watching. 

I  accordingly  obtained  his  master's  leave  that  he  should 
attend  me  to  one  of  my  cottage  assemblies.  His  master, 
although  he  did  not  himself  appear  to  live  under  the  in- 
fluence of  real  religion,  or  to  manifest  any  serious  concern 
respecting  his  own  state,  yet  was  pleased  with  my  attention 
to  his  servant,  and  always  spoke  well  of  his  behavior. 

I  set  out  on  the  day  appointed  for  the  interview.  The 
cottage  at  which  we  usually  assembled  was  near  four  miles 
distant  from  my  own  residence,  and  was  situated  at  the 
corner  of  an  oak  wood  which  screened  it  both  from  the 
burning  heat  of  summer  suns,  and  the  heavy  blasts  of  win- 
ter south-west  storms.  As  I  approached  it,  I  saw  my  friend 
the  African  sitting  under  a  tree  and  awaiting  my  arrival. 
He  held  in  his  hand  a  little  Tract  which  I  had  given  him ; 
his  Bible  lay  on  the  ground.  ■  He  rose  with  much  cheerful- 
ness, saying,    . 

"  Ah !  massa,  me  very  glad  to  see  you ;  me  think  you 
long  time  coming." 

"  William,  I  hope  you  are  well.  I  am  going  to  take  you 
with  me  to  a  few  of  my  friends,  who,  I  hope,  are  also  the 
friends  of  the  Lord.  We  meet  every  Wednesday  evening 
for  conversation  about  the  things  that  belong  to  our  ever- 
lasting  peace,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  be  a  welcome  visitor." 

"  Massa,  me  not  good  enough  to  be  with  such  good 
people.     Me  great  sinner.     They  be  good  Christians." 

"  If  you  were  to  ask  them,  William,  they  would  each 
tell  you  they  were  worse  than  any  body.  Many  of  them 
were  once,  and  that  not  vejy  long  ago,  living  in  an  openly 


THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT.  .        15 

sinful  manner,  ignorant  of  God,  and  the  enemies  of  Jesus 
Christ  by  thought  and  deed.  But  divine  grace  stopped  them 
in  their  wicked  course,  and  subdued  their  hearts  to  the  love 
and  obedience  of  him  and  his  Gospel.  You  will  only  meet 
a  company  of  poor  fellow-sinners,  who  love  to  speak  and 
sing  the  praises  of  redeeming  love ;  and  I  am  sure  that  is  a 
song  in  which  you  will  be  willing  to  join  them.-' 

"  O  yes,  sir,  that  song  just  do  for  poor  William." 

By  this  time  we  had  arrived  at  the  cottage  garden 
gate.  Several  well-known  faces  appeared  in  and  near  the 
house,  and  the  smile  of  affection  welcomed  us  as  we  enter- 
ed. It  was  known  that  the  African  was  to  visit  the  little 
society  this  evening,  and  satisfaction  beamed  in  every  coun- 
tenance, as  I  took  him  by  the  hand  and  introduced  him 
among  them,  saying,  "  I  have  brought  a  brother  from  Africa 
to  see  you,  my  friends.  Bid  him  welcome  in  the  name  of 
the  Lord." 

"  Sir,"  said  a  humble  and  pious  laborer,  whose  heart  and 
tongue  always  overflowed  with  Christian  kindness,  "  we  are 
at  all  times  glad  to  see  our  dear  minister,  but  especially  so 
to-day,  in  such  company  as  you  have  brought  with  you. 
We  have  heard  how  gracious  the  Lord  has  been  to  him. 
Give  me  your  hand,  good  friend,  (turning  to  the  African,) 
God  be  with  you  here  and  everywhere ;  and  blessed  be  his 
holy  name  for  calling  wicked  sinners,  as  I  hope  he  has  done 
you  and  me,  to  love  and  serve  him  for  his  mercy's  sake." 

Each  one  greeted  him  as  he  came  into  the  house,  and 
some  addressed  him  in  very  kind  and  impressive  language. 

"  Massa,"  said  he,  "  me  not  know  what  to  say  to  all  these 
good  friends;  me  think  this  look  like  little  heaven  upon 
earth." 

He  then,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  which,  almost  before  he 
spoke,  brought  responsive  drops  into  those  of  all  present, 
said; 

"  Good  friends  and  brethren  in  Christ  Jesus,  God  bless 
you  all,  and  bring  you  to  heaven  at  last." 

It  was  my  stated  custom  when  I  met  to  converse  with 


IQ         .  THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT. 

those  friends,  to  begin  with  prayer  and  reading  a  portion  of 
the  Scriptures. 

When  this  was  ended,  I  told  the  people  present  that  the 
providence  of  God  had  brought  this  young  man  for  a  time 
under  my  ministry ;  and  that  finding  him  very  seriously 
d:sposed,  and  believing  him  to  be  sincere  in  his  religious 
profession,  I  had  resolved  on  baptizing  him  agreeably  to  his 
own  wishes.  I  added  that  I  had  now  brought  him  with  me 
to  join  in  Christian  conversation  with  us ;  for,  as  in  old  times, 
"  they  that  feared  the  Lord  spake  often  one  to  another,"  as 
a  testimony  that  they  thought  upon  his  name,  so  I  hoped  we 
were  fulfilling  a  Christian  and  brotherly  duty  in  thus  assem- 
bling for  mutual  edification. 

Addressing  myself  to  the  African,  I  said,  "  William,  tell 
me  who  made  you  ?" 

"  God,  the  good  Father." 

"  Who  redeemed  you  ?" 

"Jesus,  his  dear  Son,  who  died  for  me  ?" 

"  Who  sanctified  you  ?" 

"  The  Holy  Ghost,  who  teach  me  to  know  the  good 
Father,  and  his  dear  Son,  Jesus." 

"  What  was  your  state  by  nature  ?" 

"  Me  wicked  sinner,  me  know  nothing  but  sin,  me  do 
nothing  but  sin  ;  my  soul  more  black  than  my  body." 

"  Has  any  change  taken  place  in  you  since  then  ?" 

"  Me  hope  so,  massa,  but  me  sometime  afraid  no." 

"  If  you  are  changed,  who  changed  you  ?" 

"  God,  the  good  Father  ;  Jesus,  his  dear  Son ;  and  God 
the  Holy  Spirit." 

"  How  was  any  change  brought  about  in  you  ?" 

"  God  make  me  slave  when  me  was  young  little  boy." 

"  How,  William  !  would  you  say  God  made  you  a  slave  V 

"  No,  massa,  no ;  me  mean  God  let  me  be  made  slave 
by  white  men  to  do  me  good." 

"  How  to  do  you  good  ?" 

"  He  take  me  from  the  land  of  darkness  and  bring  me  to 
the  land  of  light." 


THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT.  p 

"Which  do  you  call  the  land  of  light;  the  West  India 
Islands  ?" 

"  No,  massa,  they  be  the  land  of  Providence,  but  America 
be  the  land  of  light  to  me  ;  for  there  me  first  hear  good  min- 
ister preach.  And  now  this  place  where  I  am  now  is  the 
land  of  more  light ;  for  here  you  teach  me  more  and  more 
how  good  Jesus  is  to  sinners.55 

"  What  does  the  blood  of  Christ  do  ?" 

"  It  cleanse  from  all  sin.  And  as  me  hope,  from  my  sin." 

"  Are,  then,  all  men  cleansed  from  sin  by  his  blood  ?" 

"  O  no,  massa." 

"  Who  are  cleansed  and  saved  ?'J 

"  Those  that  have  faith  in  him." 

"  Can  you  prove  that  out  of  the  Bible  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir :  '  He  that  believeth  on  the  Son  hath  ever- 
lasting life  ;  and  he  that  believeth  not  the  Son,  shall  not  see 
life,  but  the  wrath  of  God  abideth  on  him.5     John  3  :  3b*. " 

"  What  is  it  to  have  faith  ?" 

"  Me  suppose  that  it  is  to  think  much  about  Jesus  Christ  ; 
to  love  him  muchj  to  believe  all  he  says  to  be  true,  to  pray 
to  him  very  much  ;  and  when  me  feel  very  weak  and  very 
sinful,  to  think  that  he  is  very  strong,  and  very  good,  and 
all  that  for  my  sake." 

"  And  have  you  such  faith  as  you  describe  ?" 

"  O,  massa,  me  think  sometimes  me  have  no  faith  a' 
all." 
•     "  Why  so,  William  ?" 

"  When  me  want  to  think  about  Jesus  Christ,  my  mind 
run  about  after  other  things  ;  when  me  want  to  love  him,  my 
heart  seem  quite  cold  ;  when  me  want  to  believe  all  to  be 
true  what  he  says  to  sinners,  me  then  think  it  is  not  true 
for  me  ;  when  me  want  to  pray,  the  devil  put  bad,  very  bad 
thoughts  into  me,  and  me  never  thank  Christ  enough.  Now 
all  this  make  me  sometimes  afraid  I  have  no  faith." 

t  observed  a  very  earnest  glow  of  attention  and  fellow, 
feeling  in  some  countenances  present,  as  he  spoke  these 
words.     I  then  said, 

Elcg.  Nar.  13 


13 


THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT. 


"  I  think,  William,  I  can  prove  that  you  have  faith,  not- 
withstanding your  fears  to  the  contrary.  Answer  me  a  few 
more  questions. 

"  Did  you  begin  to  think  yourself  a  great  sinner,  and  to 
feel  the  want  of  a  Saviour  of  your  own  self,  and  by  your 
own  thought  and  doing  ?" 

"  O,  no ;  it  came  to  me  when  me  think  nothing  about 
it,  and  seek  nothing  about  it." 

"  Who  sent  the  good  minister  in  America  to  awaken 
your  soul  by  his  preaching  ?" 

"  God,  very  certainly." 

"  Who  then  began  the  work  of  serious  thought  and  feel- 
ing  in  your  mind  ?" 

"  The  good  God  ;  me  could  not  do  it  of  myself,  me  sure 
of  that." 

"  Do  you  not  think  that  Jesus  Christ  and  his  salvation  is 
the  one  thing  most  needful  and  most  desirable  ?" 

"  O,  yes,  me  quite  sure  of  that." 

"  Do  you  not  believe  that  he  is  able  to  save  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  is  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost." 

"  Do  you  think  he  is  unwilling  to  save  you  V* 

"  Me  dare  not  say  that.  He  so  good,  so  merciful,  so 
kind,  to  say  he  will  in  no  wise  cast  out  any  that  come  to 
him." 

"  Do  you  wish,  and  desire,  and  strive  to  keep  his  com- 
mandments t 

"  Yes,  massa,  because  me  love  him,  and  that  make  me 
want  to  do  as  he  say." 

"  Are  you  willing  to  suffer  for  his  sake,  if  God  should 
call  you  to  do  so  ?" 

"  Me  do  think  me  could  die  for  the  love  of  him ;  he  not 
think  it  too  much  to  die  for  wicked  sinner ;  why  should 
wicked  sinner  think  it  much  to  die  for  so  good  and  righteous 
a  Saviour?" 

"  I  think  and  hope  I  may  say  to  you,  William,  thy  faith 
hath  made  thee  whole." 

Thus  ended  my  examination  for  the  present.     The  other 


THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT.  19 

friends  who  were  in  the  house  listened  with  the  most  affec- 
tionate anxiety  to  all  that  passed.  One  of  them  observed, 
not  without  evident  emotion, 

"  I  see,  sir,  that  though  some  men  are  white,  and  some 
are  black,  true  Christianity  is  all  of  one  color.  My  own 
heart  has  gone  with  this  good  man  every  word  he  has 
spoken." 

"  And  so  has  mine,"  gently  reechoed  from  every  part 
of  the  room. 

After  some  time  passed  in  more  general  conversation  on 
the  subject  of  the  African's  history,  I  said,  "  Let  us  now 
praise  God  for  the  rich  and  unspeakable  gift  of  his  grace, 
and  sing  the  hymn  of '  redeeming  love :' 

1  Now  begin  the  heavenly  theme, 
Sing  aloud  in  Jesus'  name,'  etc." 

which  was  accordingly  done.  Whatever  might  be  the  merit 
of  the  natural  voices,  it  was  plain  there  was  melody  in  all 
their  hearts. 

The  African  was  not  much  used  to  our  way  of  singing, 
yet  joined  with  great  earnestness  and  affection,  which  showed 
how  truly  he  felt  what  was  uttered.  When  the  fifth  verse 
was  ended  — 

"  Nothing  brought  him  from  above, 
Nothing  but  redeeming  love  " — 

he  repeated  the  words,  almost  unconscious  where  he  was. 

"  No,  nothing,  nothing  but  redeeming  love  bring  him 
down  to  poor  William  ;  nothing  but  redeeming  love." 

The  following  verses  were  added,  and  sung  by  way  of 
conclusion  : 

See,  a  stranger  comes  to  view ; 
Though  he's  black,*  he's  comely  too : 
Come  to  join  the  choirs  above, 
Singing  of  redeeming  love. 

#  Song  of  Solomon,  1 :  5. 


2Q  THE  AFRICAN  SERVANT. 

Welcome,  Negro,  welcome  here, 
Banish  doubt,  and  banish  fear ; 
You,  who  Christ's  salvation  prove, 
Praise  and  bless  redeeming  love. 

I  concluded  with  some  remarks  on  the  nature  of  salva- 
tion by  grace,  and  exhorted  all  present  to  press  forward  in 
the  heavenly  race.  It  was  an  evening,  the  circumstances 
of  which,  had  they  never  been  recorded  on  earth,  were  yet 
doubtless  registered  in  the  book  of  remembrance  above. 

I  then  fixed  the  day  for  the  baptism  of  the  African,  and 
so  took  leave  of  my  little  affectionate  circle. 

The  moon  shone  bright  as  I  returned  home,  and  was 
beautifully  reflected  from  the  waters  of  the  lake  :  harmony 
and  repose  characterized  the  scene.  I  had  just  been  unit- 
ing in  the  praises  of  the  God  of  grace  and  providence ;  and 
now  the  God  of  nature  demanded  a  fresh  tribute  of  thanks- 
giving for  the  beauties  and  comforts  of  creation,  as  David 
sang,  "  When  I  consider  thy  heavens,  the  work  of  thy  fin- 
•gers  ;  the  moon  and  the  stars,  which  thou  hast  ordained  ;  what 
is  man,  that  thou  art  mindful  of  him  ?  or  the  son  of  man,  that 
thou  visitest  him  i" 

In  a  few  days  the  African  was  baptized  ;  and  not  long 
after,  he  went  a  voyage  with  his  master. 

Since  that  time  I  have  not  been  able  to  hear  any  tidings 
of  him:  whether  he  yet  wanders  as  a  pilgrim  in  this  lower 
world,  or  whether  he  has  joined  the  heavenly  choir  in  the 
song  of  redeeming  love  in  glory,  I  know  not.  Of  this  I  am 
persuaded,  he  was  a  monument  to  the  Lord's  praise.  He 
bore  the  impression  of  the  Saviour's  image  on  his  heart,  and 
exhibited  the  marks  of  converting  grace  in  his  life  and  con- 
versation, with  singular  simplicity  and  unfeigned  sincerity. 
O,  give  to  God  the  glory. 


NARRATIVE  VII. 

THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 

BY  A  CLERGYMAN  OF  THE  CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 


THE  poor,"  said  our 
J'wflFJif  Lord,  when  questioned 
as  to  his  divine  mission, 
/'the  gospel  is  preached."  The 
j$ ';  common  people,"  too,  we  are 
g^-v  -(-q^  ^y  one  0f  j-he  evangelists, 
heard  our  Saviour  "gladly." 
St.  Paul  declares,  that ''  not  many  wise  men  after  the  flesh, 
not  many  mighty,  not  many  noble,  are  called."  And  St. 
James  asks,  whether  it  is  not  notorious  that  God  hath  chosen 
the  "poor  of  this  world,  rich  in  faith  and  heirs  of  the  king- 
dom which  he  hath  promised  to  them  that  love  him."  The 
subsequent  history  of  the  church  of  Christ  presents  a  similar 

13* 


2  THE    COTTAGER  S    WIFE. 

testimony.  To  the  poor  the  Gospel  hath  still  been  preached, 
and  by  them  it  has,  in  general,  been  most  favorably  received. 
Among  this  humble  class,  some  of  the  most  striking  instances 
of  the  power  and  grace  of  Christ  have  been  exhibited ;  and 
by  them  have  the  rich  blessings  of  his  Gospel  been  frequently 
most  highly  prized,  and  most  purely  enjoyed. 

In  adding  another  proof  of  the  truth  of  these  remarks, 
from  an  example  which  lately  fell  under  my  own  observation, 
my  only  motives  are  to  display  the  glory  of  the  Redeemer  and 
the  excellency  of  the  Gospel ;  and  to  draw  from  a  simple  state- 
ment of  facts,  a  few  plain  but  important  lessons  of  instruction 
and  consolation,  for  the  benefit  of  my  Christian  brethren. 

I  was  lately  called  to  undertake  the  pastoral  care  of  a 
small  parish,  in  one  of  the  inland  counties.  My  predecessor, 
now  gone  to  give  up  his  account  to  the  great  Shepherd  and 
Bishop  of  souls,  was  a  man  of  considerable  talents  and  learn, 
ing ;  of  sincere  piety,  and  most  amiable  manners.  In  his 
parish,  his  preaching  and  private  exertions  had  produced  a 
remarkable  degree  of  regularity  and  decency  of  manners 
among  the  poor  people,  of  whom  it  was  almost  exclusively 
composed.  How  far  his  labors  were  blessed  in  producing 
those  genuine  and  unequivocal  fruits  of  repentance  and  faith 
in  the  heart  of  any  of  his  parishioners,  which  every  zealous 
minister  is  anxious  to  perceive,  I  am  as  yet  scarcely  compe- 
tent to  determine.  Yet  in  the  case  of  the  person  of  whom  1 
am  now  about  to  give  you  a  short  account,  I  found  that  he  had 
been  instrumental  of  much  good,  both  by  his  sermons,  his 
private  instructions,  and  the  books  which  he  had  given  her. 

I  had  officiated  but  once  in  my  parish,  when  I  was  told  thai 
there  was  a  poor  young  woman,  supposed  to  be  in  a  decline, 
who  wished  to  see  me.  I  accordingly  took  an  early  opportu. 
nity  of  calling  on  her.  As  I  resided  about  two  miles  from  the 
village,  and  could  have,  as  yet,  but  a  slight  acquaintance 
with  the  characters  of  its  inhabitants,  I  was  employed  on  my 
way,  in  considering  in  what  manner  I  might  be  likely  to  Ten- 


THE    COTTAGER'S    WIFE.  3 

der  my  visit  most  profitable  to  my  poor  patient.  My  clerical 
brethren,  and  indeed  all  those  who  have  been  inthe  habit  of 
attending  the  sick-beds,  whether  of  the  rich  or  the  poor,  will 
readily  enter  into  the  anxiety  and  perplexity  of  my  thoughts 
upon  such  a  subject.  They  will  not  be  surprised  that  my  ex- 
pectations, as  to  the  actual  state  of  the  sick  person,  were  not 
very  favorable ;  and  that  I  rather  feared  to  find,  what  is  so 
commonly  met  with  on  these  occasions,  either  great  insensi- 
bility and  unconcern,  or  a  false  and  ill-grounded  satisfaction 
and  confidence  in  the  goodness  and  safety  of  her  condition.  It 
is  a  melancholy  consideration,  that  there  should  in  general  be 
so  much  ground  for  such  apprehensions ;  and  while  it  shows 
the  vast  importance  of  a  parochial  ministry,  it  may  serve  to 
quicken  those  who  are  engaged  in  it,  to  the  diligent  use  of 
every  means  of  awakening  and  instructing  their  flocks. 

Absorbed  in  this  painful  but  profitable  train  of  thought,  I 
arrived  at  the  village,  and  was  soon  directed,  by  my  clerk's 
daughter,  to  one  of  the  smallest  cottages  I  had  ever  seen.  On 
lifting  the  latch  of  this  lowly  dwelling,  I  was  struck  with  the 
remarkable  cleanliness  and  neatness  of  every  part  of  it.  The 
furniture,  though  of  the  humblest  kind,  was  decent,  and  in  the 
most  perfect  order,  and  various  traces  might  be  perceived  of 
the  industry  and  care  of  the  mistress  of  this  little  abode,  though 
she  had  now  been  confined  for  some  weeks  to  her  bed.  The 
cottage  consisted  but  of  two  small  rooms,  separated  by  a  few 
stairs,  or  rather  steps,  which  led  from  the  one  to  the  other. 
I  was  met  at  my  entrance  by  a  pleasing  looking  elderly 
woman,  holding  in  her  arms  an  infant  a  few  months  old. 

"  I  heard,"  said  I,  "  that  a  young  woman  was  ill  here, 
and  I  have  called  to  see  her.     Are  you  her  mother  V9 

11 1  am  her  husband's  mother,  sir,  and  this  is  her  little 
child.  Poor,  dear  "babe,  he  has  never  known  the  comtbrt  of 
his  mother,  and  I  am  very  much  afraid  he  will  soon  lose  her." 

iw  I  am  sorry,"  said  I,  "  to  hear  she  is  so  ill.  Would  she 
like  to  see  me  now,  do  you  think  V3 


q.  THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 

"  O  yes,  sir,  that  I  am  sure  she  will." 

This  answer  was  made  in  so  unusual  a  tone  of  confi 
dence  and  apparent,  welcome,  that  I  could  not  help  hailing 
it  as  a  token  for  good.  How  often,  alas,  are  ministers  re- 
ceived with  a  degree  of  coldness  and  indifference,' in  their 
visits  to  the  sick,  which  too  plainly  proves  that  these  labors 
of  love  are  but  slightly  valued,  if  at  all  desired. 

The  reply  was  no  sooner  made,  than  I  followed  the  good 
woman  into  the  sick  room.  It  was  a  little  apartment  formed 
out  of  the  roof  of  the  cottage,  open  to  the  stairs,  and  without 
any  means  of  warming  it  by  a  fire.  The  walls  were  white- 
washed, and  it  had  one  very  small  casement,  which  its  neat 
but  afflicted  tenant  had  adorned  with  a  little  muslin  curtain. 
On  a  bedstead,  just  raised  from  the  floor,  and  without  any 
curtain  to  shelter  her  from  the  keen  air  of  winter,  lay  the 
poor  object  of  my  visit,  apparently  far  advanced  in  a  con- 
sumption. "  Alas,"  thought  I,  "  this  is  but  a  comfortless  ac- 
commodation for  one  in  such  a  disorder !  How  many  in  the 
midst  of  health,  would  think  themselves  hardly  used,  to  be 
obliged  to  content  themselves  with  such  an  apartment  ?  Can 
I  ever  murmur  at  any  circumstances  in  my  own  compara- 
tively favored  lot  ?  Forbid  it,  Lord,  and  forgive  the  repin- 
ing thoughts  which  have  sometimes  found  admission  into  my 
mind.  O,  make  me  thankful  for  my  superior  blessings ;  and 
in  whatsoever  state  I  am,  let  me  learn  therewith  to  be  content." 
These  and  similar  thoughts  passed  rapidly  through  my  mind 
as  I  approached  the  bedside  of  my  poor  parishioner. 

"  M ,"  said  her  mother-in-law,  "here  is  the  minister 

come  to  see  you." 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  him,"  was  the  immediate  answer, 
"and  greatly  obliged  to  him  for  coming  so  far  in  this  col 
weather." 

"  How  do  you  find  yourself?"  said  I. 

"  I  am  very  ill,  sir,  and  feel  that  I  am  getting  weaker 
every  day." 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE.  5 

"  How  long  have  you  been  ill  ?" 

"  Three  and  twenty  weeks,  sir.  I  have  never  been  well 
since  the  birth  of  my  poor  babe,  and  I  begin  to  think  that  I 
shall  never  recover." 

I  perceived  at  once,  by  the  hectic  flush  upon  her  cheek, 
and  by  the  difficulty  with  which  she  breathed,  that  her  ap- 
prehensions were  but  too  well  founded,  and  therefore  deter- 
p lined  to  lose  no  time  in  examining  the  state  of  her  mind  as 
to  religion. 

"  Your  illness,"  said  I,  "  has  indeed  been  very  long,  and 
seems  now  to  be  very  serious ;  but  this  is  the  Lord's  doing  ; 
it  is  He  who  has  laid  you  on  the  bed  of  sickness ;  and  the 
length  of  your  confinement  has  given  you  a  very  merciful 
opportunity  of  thinking  upon  religion,  and  the  concerns  of 
your  soul.     I  hope  you  have  improved  it." 

"  I  have  tried  to  do  so,  sir." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so ;  but  let  me  have  a  little 
serious  conversation  with  you  upon  this  subject." 

"  That  is  what  I  greatly  desire,  sir." 

"  Religion,  you  know,  should  be  the  great  business  of 
our  lives,  whether  in  health  or  sickness,  but  especially  in 
sickness  ;  and  since  your  state  seems  very  uncertain,  let  me 
ask  you  what  you  think  about  it.  If  it  should  please  God 
that  you  should  not  recover,  what  hope  have  you  as  to  an- 
other world  ?" 

Those  who  know  by  painful  experience  the  answers 
vvhich  are  commonly  made  both  by  the  rich  and  the  poor  to 
such  a  question,  will  judge  of  the  surprise  and  pleasure  I 
felt  on  hearing  a  very  different  reply  from  my  afflicted  pa- 
rishioner. In  feeble  accents,  broken  and  interrupted  by  her 
cough  and  laboring  breath,  she  spoke,  as  nearly  as  I  can 
recollect,  as  follows : 

"  Sir,  I  know  and  acknowledge  that  I  am  a  poor,  miser- 
able sinner ;  a  great  sinner,  sir.  I  do  not  mean,  that  I  ever 
committed  any  very   heinous  crime ;    but  notwithstanding 

VOL.   IT. 


Q  THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 

this,  I  know  and  feel  that  I  am  a  very  sinful  creatuie.  1 
have  endeavored,  sir,  during  my  long.illness,  to  call  to  mind 
my  past  life ;  and  as  nearly  as  I  can  remember,  J  have 
spread  all  my  sins  before  God,  and  earnestly  begged  his  for- 
giveness through  Jesus  Christ.  I  know  and  believe  that  he 
is  the  only  Saviour  of  sinners ;  I  put  my  whole  trust  in  him; 
and  I  hope  I  have  come  to  him ;  I  know  that  he  is  a  merci- 
ful Saviour;  but,  sir,"  (and  here  she  burst  into  tears,) 
11  when  I  reflect  upon  my  vileness  and  sinfulness,  I  often  fear 
that  he  will  not  receive  me  ;  and  if  Christ  should  refuse  me, 
where  shall  I  go,  or  what  shall  I  do  to  be  saved !" 

Many  of  my  readers  will  anticipate  my  reply  to  this 
affecting  but  hopeful  declaration.  I  told  my  poor  patient, 
that  I  was  truly  rejoiced  to  hear  what  she  had  just  been 
saying ;  and  that  if  she  was  sincere  in  what  she  had  told 
me,  of  which  indeed,  from  her  whole  air  and  manner,  I 
could  have  but  little  doubt,  there  was  much  that  I  could  say 
to  comfort  her.  I  said  that  it  was  a  great  satisfaction  to  me 
to  find  that  she  was  convinced  of  her  sinful  state,  and  of  the 
necessity  of  Christ  as  a  Saviour,  and  assured  her  that  if  she 
came  to  him  with  a  sincere  and  humble  faith,  there  could 
be  no  doubt  of  his  willingness  to  receive  her.  To  confirm 
this,  I  read  to  her  several  passages  of  Scripture^particularly 
1  Tim.  1 :  15 ;  John  3 :  16,  17,  and  6 :  37 ;  and  Matt.  11 : 
28-30 ;  to  which  she  listened  with  profound  and  eager  at- 
tention, and  afterwards  expressed  the  encouragement  and 
consolation  which  they  afforded  her. 

Fearing,  however,  that  what  had  given  me  so  much 
pleasure,  might  possibly  be,  at  least  in  part,  owing  to  a 
religious  education,  or  to  a  merely  nominal  acquaintance 
with  religious  sentiments  and  phraseology,  I  inquired  of  my 
poor  parishioner  where  she  had  obtained  a  degree  of  know- 
ledge in  religion  which,  unhappily,  was  but  too  seldom  met 
with  in  visiting  sick-beds. 

She  told  me,  that  as  long  as  she  could  remember,  she 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE.  7 

had  been  impressed  with  the  fear  of  God,  and  a  strong  de- 
sire to  be  a  true  Christian.  "  When  I  was  quite  a  child, 
sir,"  said  she,  "  I  had  a  great  dread  of  the  Almighty  upon 
me."  This  was  her  exact  expression,  by  which  I  doubt  not 
she  meant  to  describe  that  which  the  Psalmist  speaks  of 
when  he  says,  "  Even  from  my  youth  up,  thy  terrors  have 
I  suffered  with  a  troubled  mind."  "At  this  early  age,  sir," 
she  continued,  "  I  remember  that  I  often  left  my  companions 
to  engage  in  prayer;  and  as  I  grew  up,  and  went  into  the 
fields  to  work  with  other  young  people,  I  have  sometimes 
been  so  full  of  thought  and  anxiety  about  my  soul,  that  I 
have  spoken  of  what  I  was  thinking  aloud,  and  now  and 
then  uttered  a  short  prayer ;  upon  which  my  companions 
generally  laughed,  and  called  me  by  some  nickname.  My 
greatest  delight,  sir,  was  to  go  to  church ;  and  as  I  had  a 
very  good  memory,"  proofs  of  which  she  frequently  gave 
me  in  the  course  of  my  visits,  "  I  was  able  to  remember  a 
great  many  texts  of  Scripture,  which  I  used  to  think  of  when 
I  was  by  myself.  1  recollect  to  this  hour,  sir,  some  of  the 
sermons  I  heard  when  I  was  quite  young.  At  that  time, 
my  great  desire  was  to  become  prepared  to  partake  of  the 
Lord's  supper ;  and  I  often  begged  some  of  my  friends  to 
read  to  me  upon  the  subject.  After  this  I  learned  to  read 
myself,  and  O,  what  a  great  blessing  I  have  found  it  to  read 
the  word  of  God  !" 

The  preceding  account  of  the  early  feelings  and  dispo- 
sitions of  this  poor  young  woman  satisfied  me  that  the  grace 
of  God  had  visited  her  heart,  and  had  long  been  drawing 
her  to  an  acquaintance  with  himself,  and  with  her  Redeemer. 
How  highly  should  we  prize  these  Divine  impressions  and 
attractions  in  our  own  case,  and  how  anxious  should  we  be 
to  cherish  and  improve  them  in  others !  But,  alas !  how 
often  are  they  neglected,  and  checked  by  some  sinful  pur- 
suit, or  worldly  object,  until  God  in  his  all- wise  and  merci- 
ful providence  interposes  for  our  deliverance  !     Thus  it  was 


g  THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 

with  the  humble  subject  of  this  narrative.  After  the  prom- 
ising beginning  which  has  been  mentioned,  the  vanities  of 
youth,  and  the  evil  communications  of  those  with  whom  she 
lived  in  service,  led  her  away  from  God  and  religion,  and, 
though  preserved  from  gross  sins,  she  lived  some  years  in  a 
careless  and  worldly  manner. 

"  What  a  mercy  it  was,  sir,"  said  she,  while  mentioning 
this  unhappy  period,  "  that  I  was  not  cut  off  in  the  midst  of 
it,  without  repentance  and  preparation  for  eternity  !  I  bless 
God  that  he  has  been  pleased  to  spare  me,  though  he  has 
brought  me  into  the  affliction  in  which  you  see  me." 
"*  "  Pray,"  said  I,  "  what  circumstances  roused  you  to 
serious  thought  after  you  had  thus  been  living  in  a  negligent 
way  ?" 

"  Several  things  happened,  sir,  to  bring  about  this  blessed 

change  in  me.     Mr.  N came  to  be  minister  at  H , 

and  his  sermons  went  to  my  heart ;  and  not  to  mine  only, 
but  to  my  poor  aged  mother's  and  to  one  of  my  sister's. 
Then,  sir,  not  long  after,  this  dear  sister  died,  of  the  same 
disorder  that  I  am  now  in — and  so  peacefully,  so  happily, 
that  nobody  could  doubt  of  her  having  gone  to  heaven.  Her 
death  was  greatly  blessed  to  me ;  and  I  have  often  prayed 
that  mine  mteht  be  like  it." 

Perceiving  that  she  began  to  be  fatigued,  I  was  unwill- 
ing to  prolong  the  conversation  at  this  time,  farther  than  to 
ask  her  whether  she  had  been  much  in  the  habit  of  prayer. 

She  replied  that  she  had :  "  but  now,  sir,"  continued 
she, "  that  I  am  so  weak,  I  am  sometimes  hardly  able  to  use 
my  voice  for  any  length  of  time ;  but  I  pray  with  my  heart 
continually  ;  and  when  I  lie  awake  at  night,  this  is  my  great 
support  and  comfort.  I  think,  too,  at  such  times,  of  many 
texts  of  Scripture  which  I  know  by  heart,  and  they  are 
greatly  blessed  to  my  soul." 

At  her  earnest  request,  I  now  prayed  with  her,  and  was 
much  struck  with  the   remarkable  seriousness  and  fervor 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE.  g 

with  which  she  joined  in  my  petitions.  When  I  had  ended, 
I  urged  upon  her  the  duty  of  self-examination,  and  frequent 
application  to  the  throne  of  gface  for  "  repentance  and  re- 
mission of  sins;"  and  was  about  to  leave  her,  when  the 
physician,  who  was  attending  her,  came  in. 

After  he  had  visited  his  patient,  I  inquired  his  opinion 
of  her  case,  and  was  grieved  to  find  that  he  entertained  no 
expectation  of  her  recovery — grieved  not  on  her  own  ac- 
count— for  after  what  I  had  just  witnessed,  I  could  not  but 
believe  that  she  was  ripening  for  heaven — but  for  her  hus- 
band and  her  infant,  who  were  about  shortly  to  be  deprived 
of  so  valuable  a  wife  and  mother ;  and  for  myself,  who  was 
likely  so  soon  to  lose  a  parishioner,  whose  example,  were 
she  spared,  might  prove  eminently  beneficial  to  all  around 
her. 

Though  I  could  not  but  regret  this  melancholy  prospect, 
yet  joy  and  gratitude  were  the  predominant  feelings  in  my 
mind  on  leaving  the  cottage.  I  had  entered  it  full  of  anxi- 
ety, doubt,  and  apprehension;  fearing  that  I  should  only 
find  fresh  cause  for  lamenting  the  wretched  state  of  those 
who  are  ignorant  of  themselves  and  of  Jesus  Christ,  and 
who  are  wholly  unprepared  for  a  dying  bed.  I  quitted  it, 
not  only  relieved  of  this  burden,  but  rejoicing  in  the  awak- 
ened, humbled,  spiritual  frame  of  mind  which  its  afflicted 
inhabitant  discovered,  and  feeling  inexpressibly  gratified  at 
so  unexpected  a  result  of  my  first  parochial  visit.  Full  of 
the  interesting  reflections  which  this  occurrence  had  excited 
in  my  mind,  I  returned  homewards.  My  thoughts  were 
chiefly  occupied  with  the  love  of  God  in  the  redemption  of  a 
ruined  world  ;  in  the  sufferings  and  death  of  his  only  begot- 
ten  Son ;  with  the  love  of  that  gracious  Redeemer,  who 
came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners ;  with  the  grace  of  that 
Holy  Spirit  who  vouchsafes  to  apply  this  salvation  effectu- 
ally to  the  soul.  While  meditating  on  these  sacred  and 
inestimable  truths,  I  could  not  help  thinking  how  superior 

Eleg.  Nar.  14 


i.0 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 


was  the  happiness  of  my  poor  parishioner,  in  the  midst  of  al, 
her  poverty,  distress,  and  pain,  to  that  of  the  wealthy,  the 
prosperous,  and  the  gay,  who  live  "  without  God  in  the 
worM;"  who,  satisfied  with  themselves  and  with  worldly 
pleasures  "  for  a  season,"  neglect  their  immortal  souls,  and 
neither  seek  nor  desire  an  interest  in  the  redemption  which 
is  in  Christ  Jesus.  "  Surely,"  thought  I,  "  one  thing  is  in- 
deed needful,  and  M has  chosen  that  good  part  which 

shall  never  be  taken  away  from  her."  I  am  thankful  also 
that  I  have  thus  early  been  honored  with  the  opportunity  of 
ministering  to  the  edification  and  comfort  of  one,  who  will, 
I  doubt  not,  prove  an  heir  of  salvation. 

The  reader  will  readily  believe  that  I  did  not  long  delay 
a  second  visit  to  my  poor  parishioner.  Although  I  was  in 
a  great  measure  satisfied  as  to  her  sincerity,  and  could  not 
reasonably  doubt  that  she  was  a  child  of  God,  I  was  anxious 
to  ascertain  the  effect  of  my  first  visit,  and  to  administer  all 
the  instruction  and  consolation  which  could  be  crowded 
within  the  apparently  short  remnant  of  her  days.  It  was  on 
the  following  Sabbath  that  I  again  directed  my  steps  to  the 
village.  As  I  approached  it,  "  the  sound  of  the  church-going 
bell "  was  collecting  my  little  congregation.  I  could  not, 
therefore,  proceed  to  the  cottage,  till  I  had  closed  the  morn- 
ing service,  and  dismissed  my  little  flock  with  that  impres- 
sive and  truly  pastoral  blessing,  which  it  were  to  be  wished 
might  never  be  repeated  without  the  fervor,  or  heard  without 
the  interest,  which  it  so  justly  deserves.  I  then  hastened  to 
my  sick  parishioner.  The  door  was  opened  to  me  by  her 
husband,  a  remarkably  fine,  healthy-looking  young  man. 

"  How  is  your  wife,"  said  I,  "  to-day  ?" 

"  Very  ill,  sir." 

"  Worse  than  when  I  saw  her  on  Thursday  ?"  . 

"  Rather  weaker,  sir." 

'Shall  I  walk  upstairs?" 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 

"If  you  please,  sir;  she  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you." 

M appeared  truly  so.     "  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that 

you  feel  weaker  than  when  I  saw  you  last." 

"I  do,  indeed,  sir;  but  it  is  the  will  of  God,  and  it  is 
my  sincere  desire  that  his  will,  and  not  mine,  should  be 
done." 

"  Whatever  his  will  may  be,"  said  I,  "  be  assured  that 
it  is  the  best." 

"  I  know,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  that  all  things  work  together 
for  good  to  them  that  love  God." 

"Do  you  think  that  you  are  of  that  happy  number  ?" 

"  1  cannot  but  hope  so,  sir.  God  knows  that  I  love  him. 
I  am  grieved  that  I  have  not  served  him  as  I  ought,  and  that 
I  cannot  love  him  better ;  but  I  often  think,  sir,  if  it  should 
please  (Jod  to  spare  my  life,  and  to  raise  me  up  again,  how 
careful  I  will  be  not  to  offend  him — how  I  will  try  to  serve 
and  please  him." 

"  I  trust  you  would ;  but  since  you  have  not  done  this, 
as  you  ought,  before,  why  do  you  think  you  should  do  so 
hereafter  ?" 

"  Sir,  I  know  that  my  heart  is  very  weak  and  deceitful, 
and  that  I  cannot  do  any  thing  good  of  myself;  but  I  hope  I 
have  learnt  much  from  this  illness  ;  I  see  the  vanity  of  every 
thing  but  religion,  and  I  think  that,  with  God's  assistance,  1 
should  lead  a  more  Christian  life." 

"  Have  you  thought  much  of  what  I  said  to  you  when  J 
was  here  before  ?" 

"  I  have  thought  of  little  else,  sir." 

"  And  do  you  believe  that  your  repentance  for  your  past 
sins  is  quite  sincere  ?" 

"I  do  indeed  hope  that  it  is." 

"  Do  you  feel  any  real  sorrow  on  account  of  them,  and 
any  inward  hatred  and  dread  of  sin  V9 

"  I  think  I  feel,  sir,  something  of  that  broken  and  con- 
trite heart  which  God  will  not  despise." 


JL2  THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 

Perceiving  unusual  symptoms  of  uneasiness  about  her,  I 
asked  her  if  she  was  in  much  pain. 

"  O,  yes,  sir ;  but  what  is  my  pain  to  that  which  my 
S«viour  suffered  upon  the  cross  ?  He  was  for  many  hours 
upon  the  rack,  and  had  none  to  comfort  him ;  but  I  have 
deserved  a  great  deal  more  than  I  suffer,  and  have  many 
mercies." 

Soon  after  this,  her  husband,  who  had  till  now  been 
present,  left  the  room,  when  I  took  the  opportunity  of  asking 

M whether  he  thought  and  felt  in  any  manner  as  she 

did  upon  religious  subjects. 

She  shook  her  head  at  this  question,  and  sighed  as  she 
answered,  "  I  wish  I  could  say  he  did,  sir ;  but  I  cannot. 
My  husband  is  a  very  sober,  honest,  well-behaved  man,  but 
I  am  sorry  to  say  he  knows  but  little  about  religion  J' 

"  How  then,"  said  I,  "  came  you  to  think  of  marrying 
him  ?" 

"  Because  I  was  a  vain  and  foolish  girl,  sir ;  but  I  have 
been  sorely  chastised  for  it.  I  have  known  but  very  little 
happiness  since  I  married.  My  husband,  though  kind  and 
civil,  has  never  liked  to  join  with  me  in  living  as  Christians 
should ;  and  his  family  are  all  worldly  people ;  and  living 
so  close  to  them,  I  have  been  greatly  tried.  I  have  ear- 
nestly desired  to  say,  with  Joshua,  'As  for  me,  and  my 
house,  we  will  serve  the  Lord ;'  but  when  I  have  asked  my 
husband  to  hear  me  read  the  Bible,  (for  he  is  no  scholar 
himself,)  he  would  only  tell  me  it  was  enough  to  go  to  church 
on  Sundays.  I  used  to  tell  my  husband  that  we  could  not 
expect  the  blessing  of  God  upon  us,  if  we  did  not  worship 
and  serve  him ;  and  often  when  he  has  been  going  to  lie 
down  at  night,  without  prayer,  I  have  said  to  him, '  O,  John, 
how  can  you  go  to  rest  without  begging  God's  forgiveness. 
and  protection  ?  Suppose  your  soul  should  this  night  be 
required  of  you !  Do  you  think  you  should  awake  in 
heaven  V     Sometimes,  when  I  have  spoken  thus,  sir,  I  could 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 


13 


prevail  upon  him  to  pray  a  few  words ,  but  at  other  times, 
he  would  bid  me  hold  my  tongue  and  go  to  sleep.  O, 
sir,  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  have  suffered  on  his  account ; 
and  his  family  are  all  of  the  same  way  of  thinking ;  but  1 
hope  you  will  be  able  to  do  them  some  good.  All  these 
things  have  made  them  not  very  kind  to  me ;  but  I  have 
much  to  be  forgiven  myself,  sir,  and  I  freely  forgive  them. 
Indeed,  weak  as  I  am,  I  would  go  down  upon  my  knees  to 
every  one  of  them,  if  I  could  do  them  any  good." 

In  the  midst  of  this  interesting  conversation,  we  were 
interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  two  of  her  sisters,  who  had 
come  from  distant  villages  to  see  her.  They  were  consid- 
erably older  than  my  parishioner,  and  manifested  an  affec- 
tionate concern  for  her,  which  highly  gratified  me.  It  is 
one  of  the  disadvantages  of  poverty,  that  it  is  in  general  apt 
to  chill  the  current  of  the  social  and  domestic  feelings,  and 
to  produce  a  hardness  and  insensibility,  which  increase 
rather  than  diminish  its  other  attendant  evils.  In  the  pres- 
ent case  I  was  delighted  to  observe  all  the  warmth  of  ten- 
derness, and  liveliness  of  sympathy,  which  more  frequently 
distinguish  those  who  are  somewhat  elevated  above  the  low- 
est rank  of  life,  called  forth  into  exercise  toward  the  afflicted 
subject  of  this  narrative.  After  the  first  inquiries  of  these 
kind  relatives  were  over,  I  was  about  to  propose  that  we 
should  unite  in  prayer,  when  my  parishioner  said  that  she 
had  a  particular  favor  to  beg  of  me. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  said  I. 

"  You  know,  sir,  Friday  is  Christmas-day,  and  I  suppose 
you  will  administer  the  Lord's  Supper.  I  have  been  look- 
ing forward  a  long  time  in  the  hope  that  I  should  be  well 
enough  to  go  to  church,  and  join  in  that  holy  communion. 

The  last  time,  sir,  I  ever  saw  Mr.  P ,  he  talked  to  me 

a  good  while  upon  the  subject,  and  gave  me  a  book  to  read 
upon  it.  Though  I  had  always  a  great  desire  to  receive  the 
Lord's  Supper,  I  have  been  afraid  of  taking  it  unworthily. 

VOL.  II.  14# 


I  4  THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 

/  am  indeed  not  worthy  to  pick  up  the  crumbs  under  my 
Master's  table;  but  Jesus  said,  <  Except  ye  eat  the  flesh 
and  drink  the  blood  of  the  Son  of  man,  ye  have  no  life  in 
you.'" 

"  True,"  said  I ;  "  but  do  you  think,  that  by  merely  re- 
ceiving the  Lord's  Supper,  you  will  have  this  life  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  know  that  I  must  have  a  true  faith  in  Christ. " 

"  Yes,  you  must  feed  on  him,  *  in  your  heart,  by  faith, 
with  thanksgiving.5  n 

"  That  is  my  sincere  desire,  sir.  God  knows  how  ear- 
nestly I  have  longed  for  an  opportunity  of  going  to  the  Lord's 

table.     You  know,  sir,  Mr.  P was  taken  ill  just  before 

the  last  time  it  was  to  be  administered  in  our  church,  and  I 
have  been  confined  almost  ever  since ;  but  now,  if  you  think 
I  am  in  a  fit  state  to  receive  the  supper,  I  should  feel  it  to 
be  the  greatest  blessing  and  comfort,  if  you  would  be  so 
kind  as  to  give  it  to  me  on  Friday." 

Upon  this,  I  read  to  her  several  passages  of  Scripture, 
together  with  parts  of  the  communion  service  which  partic- 
ularly mention  the  qualifications  of  acceptable  communi- 
cants ;  and  after  conversing  some  time  longer  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  telling  her  that  I  should  willingly  comply  with  her 
request  on  Christmas-day,*  I  asked  who  would  partake  of  it 
with  her. 

"  I  expect,"  said  M ,  "  that  my  poor,  dear  mother 

will  be  here,  if  she  can  bear  the  journey ;  and  she  will,  I 
am  sure,  be  glad  to  join  with  me." 

"And  will  not  your  husband?"  said  I,  who  was  now 
returned  to  the  sick  room.  * 

*  It  will  be  perceived,  that  this  interesting  and  excellent 
Tract  is  from  the  pen  of  a  devout  Episcopalian  ;  and  in  publish- 
ing it  entire,  it  may  perhaps  be  necessary  to  say,  that  the  Pub- 
lishing Committee  would  not  be  understood  to  express  any  opin- 
ion in  relation  to  the  practice  of  administering  the  Lord's  Supper 
in  private. 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE.  15 

"  O !  how  1  wish  he  would  come  and  embrace  his  Sav- 
iour," answered  his  wife.     "  Will  you  not,  John  ?" 

I  reminded  him  that  he  must  soon  part  with  his  dear 
wife  ;  and  that  by  joining  her  in  the  work  of  religion  here, 
he  would  enjoy  an  earnest  of  a  blessed  union  hereafter. 

"  I  am  in  great  trouble,"  he  replied,  "  and  scarcely  know 
how  to  think  of  any  thing." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  you  should  at  least  think  of  religion,  for 
it  is  God  only  who  can  comfort  you ;  and  the  illness  of  your 
wife  is  a  call  to  you  to  turn  to  him.  Jesus  also  invites  you, 
now  that  you  are  in  trouble,  to  come  to  him  for  rest." 

He  seemed  to  feel  the  truth  of  what  I  said ;  but  partly 
from  ignorance,  and  partly  from  that  corruption  which 
always  opposes  the  turning  of  the  heart  to  God,  he  held 
back  from  saying  any  thing  more.  How  common,  and  yet 
how  lamentable  a  case  is  this?  Men  neglect  and  refuse 
to  make  God  their  friend,  and  when,  amidst  the  various 
changes  of  this  mortal  life,  they  fall  into  distress,  they 
know  not  what  to  do,  or  whither  to  flee  for  support  and 
comfort. 

I  closed  this  second  visit  by  praying  with  this  afflicted 

party  assembled  in  the  sick  room.     M joined  in  every 

petition  with  a  degree  of  animation  and  fervor  which  I  have 
seldom  seen  surpassed,  and  expressed  her  gratitude  in  a 
manner  which  left  no  room  to  doubt  the  reality  of  a  Divine 
work  in  her  heart.  On  leaving  the  room,  I  gave  her  a  copy 
of  "  The  Dairyman's  Daughter,"  thinking  that  she  might 
derive  both  instruction  and  comfort  from  a  history  which 
exhibits  some  circumstances  very  similar  to  those  of  her  own 
case.  I  was,  however,  agreeably  surprised  to  find  that  the 
benevolent  physician,  whom  I  had  met  on  my  first  visit,  had 
been  beforehand  with  me  in  this  present. 

"  I  have  contrived  to  read  part  of  that  little  book,  sir," 

said  M ,  "  though  not  without  difficulty.     That  young 

woman  died  of  the  disorder  which  I  have.     She  was  a  true 


IQ  THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 

Christian,  sir,  and  I  have  been  much  comforted  by  many 
things  that  are  related  of  her.  God  grant  that  I  may  be 
like  her." 

"  I  trust,5'  said  I,  "  that  by  the  grace  of  God  you  will  be 
like  her,  both  living  and  dying.  Fix  your  faith  and  love  on 
the  same  gracious  Saviour  in  whom  she  trusted,  and  you 
will  enjoy  similar  peace    and  consolation,  and   the  same 

blessed  hope  of  eternal  happiness  !     God  bless  you,  M , 

may  he  support,  sanctify,  and  comfort  you,  while  you  re- 
main here  below,  and  make  you  daily  better  prepared  for 
the  heavenly  world." 

"  God  bless  you,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  "  for  all  your  kind 
instructions  and  prayers.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  they 
have  comforted  me." 

About  two  days  after  my  second  visit  to  M ,  I  was 

told  that  some  one  from  S ,  the  village  in  which  she 

lived,  wished  to  see  me.  As  I  had  desired  her  to  send  for 
some  little  comforts  which  her  humble  circumstances  could 
not  afford,  I  took  for  granted  that  this  was  her  messenger ; 
but,  instead  of  the  person  whom  I  expected  on  this  errand, 

I  was  surprised  to  find  that  it  was  M 's  mother,  whom 

my  reader  may  recollect  she  told  me  she  was  hoping  shortly 
to  see.  She  was  a  decent  looking  old  woman,  with  an  air 
of  peculiar  meekness  and  gravity,  and  apparently  bending 
more  under  the  weight  of  trouble  than  of  years. 

"  Pray  rest  yourself,"  said  I,  as  she  was  attempting  to 
rise.     "  You  must  be  tired,  after  your  long  walk." 

"  A  little,  sir,"  was  the  reply ;  "  but  more  distressed  by 
my  poor,  dear  daughter's  illness." 

"  How  is  she  to-day  V9 

"  Very  ill,  indeed,  sir ;  she  cannot  hold  out  long,  I  think.5 

"  I  fear  not,"  said  I ;  "  but  do  not  be  too  much  distressed. 
Your  daughter  is,  I  trust,  a  real  Christian,  and  preparing 
for  a  better  world." 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE.  17 

"  Ah,  sir,  I  trust  she  is.  She  is  following  her  dear  sis- 
ter, who  died  about  two  years  ago.  Thank  God,  she  was 
ready  to  go,  and  no  doubt  she  is  in  heaven  ;  and  my  poor 

dear  M is  very  like  her;  but  it  is  a  great  affliction  to 

lose  such  good  children  in  my  old  age." 

"  It  is,  indeed,"  I  replied ;  "  and  I  feel  much  for  you.  I 
have  lost  children,  too,  though  not  grown  up;  but  although 
it  is  a  heavy  trial,  the  blessed  hope  of  their  being  happy  for 
ever  in  heaven  is  an  unspeakable  consolation.  Now,  as  far 
as  I  am  able  to  judge,  I  think  your  daughter  is  a  true  be- 
liever in  Jesus  Christ,  and  interested  in  his  salvation." 

"  It  is  a  great  comfort  to  me  to  hear  you  say  so,  sir. 
Indeed,  I  do  think  so  myself.  She  was  always  inclined  tG 
religion  from  a  child ;  but  she  has  attended  more  to  it  with- 
in the  last  two  or  three  years  than  ever." 

"  She  appears  to  me,"  said  I,  "  to  be  in  a  very  hopeful 
frame  of  mind.  I  cannot  look  into  her  heart ;  but  if  she  is 
sincere  in  her  professions,  I  cannot  but  think  that  she  is  in 
the  way  to  heaven." 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,  sir,  as  you  say,  we  cannot  look  into 
the  heart ;  but  it  is  of  no  use  to  pretend  to  religion,  if  we 
are  not  sincere  in  it ;  and  so  I  tell  M — : — ,  and  indeed  I 
think  she  is  sincere." 

"  Pray,  when  did  you  come  to  see  your  daughter  ?" 

"Last  Sunday,  sir,  just  after  you  left  her.  I  have  been 
in  a  great  deal  of  trouble  about  walking  over  on  the  Sab- 
bath ;  but  I  trust  the  Lord  will  forgive  me,  if  I  did  wrong. 
I  did  not  hear  till  then  that  she  was  so  ill,  and  put  off  com- 
ing to  see  her  as  long  as  possible,  for  the  journey  is  almost 
too  much  for  me  at  my  age  ;  but  I  was  afraid  I  should  hard- 
ly see  her  alive,- if  I  did  not  set  off  directly,  or  be  stopped 
next  day  by  the  weather,  this  winter  time  ;  and  all  the  way 
I  came,  my  thoughts  were  taken  up  with  God  and  heavenly 
things." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  much  struck  with  the  tenderness  of 

VOL.  II. 


13  THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE, 

conscience  displayed  by  the  poor  old  woman,  "  I  think  this 
is  a  case  in  which  God  would  have  *  mercy  and  not  sacri- 
fice. '  You  know  your  Saviour  graciously  allows  us  to 
perform  acts  of  necessity,  mercy,  and  charity,  on  the  Sab- 
bath ;  and  I  cannot  suppose  he  was  offended  by  your  jour- 
ney to  see  your  poor  sick  daughter,  especially  as  you  seem 
to  have  a  sincere  desire  to  serve  and  please  him.  Pray, 
have  you  long  thought  so  seriously  upon  religion  V' 

"  Not  so  long,  sir,  as  I  could  wish  I  had.  The  former 
part  of  my  life  was  too  much  taken  up  with  the  cares  of  the 
world,  and  the  labor  of  bringing  up  a  large  family ;  but  I 
had  much  affliction  of  late  years,  and  it  has  pleased  God  to 
teach  me  many  things  concerning  his  Son  Jesus  Christ  and 
the  salvation  of  my  soul ;  and  I  bless  his  holy  name  for 
giving  me  the  opportunity,  in  my  old  age,  of  attending  to 
these  things." 

The  good  old  woman  had  now  rested  herself  after  the 
fatigue  of  her  walk,  and,  after  a  little  farther  refreshment, 
prepared  to  return  to  her  daughter's  cottage.  I  could  not 
help  regarding  her  with  a  peculiar  pleasure.  Truly,  "  the 
hoary  head  is  a  crown  of  glory  if  it  be  found  in  the  way  of 
righteousness." 

On  the  Friday  following  the  preceding  conversation  with 
M 's  mother,  being  Christmas-day,  I  repaired  to  my  vil- 
lage church  to  celebrate  that  truly  joyful  festival ;  and  to 
unite  with  it  the  commemoration  of  the  death  of  that  gra- 
cious Saviour,  at  the  recollection  of  whose  birth  we  had 
previously  rejoiced.  Although  the  morning  was  unusually 
cold,  the  beams  of  the  winter's  sun  were  bright  and  cheer- 
ing, and  seemed  to  hail  the  return  of  that  hallowed  season, 
in  which,  with  so  much  propriety,  we  are  invited  to  express 
our  gratitude  for  the  dawning  of  that  "  Day-spring  from  on 
high,"'  which  can  alone  "  guide  our  feet  into  the  way  of 
peace."     My  little  flock  assembled  in  the  house  of  God : 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 


19 


and  while  our  thanksgivings  and  prayers  ascended,  I  trust 
with  acceptance,  before  the  throne  of  grace,  the  hearts  of 
some  at  least  among  us  were,  I  hope,  warmed  by  our  medi- 
tations on  the  angelic  anthem  which  so  clearly  and  beauti- 
fully describes  the  blessed  effects  of  the  Saviour's  birth : 
"  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on  earth  peace,  good 
will  toward  men."  The  table  of  the  Lord's  Supper  was 
next  approached,  where,  in  unison  with  multitudes  of  our 
brethren  throughout  the  world,  we  again  joined  in  that  ex- 
alted hymn ;  and  together  with  our  praises  for  the  finished 
work  of  redemption,  offered  up  our  supplication  to  Him  that 
sitteth  "  at  the  right  hand  of  God  the  Father,"  to  "  have 
mercy  upon  us,"  and  to  "  receive  our  prayers."  The  de- 
lightful service  of  the  sanctuary  being  thus  ended,  I  pro- 
ceeded to  the  cottage  of  my  poor,  sick  friend ;  and,  as  it  was 
very  near  the  church,  the  clerk  followed  with  the  sacred 
provisions  of  which  we  had  just  partaken  at  the  public  com- 
munion. 

I  found  M anxiously  expecting  us.  Her  little  cham- 
ber had  been  made  as  neat  as  possible  for  the  occasion ;  and 
in  one  corner  of  it  a  napkin  was  spread  on  a  table,  at  which 
we  were  to  commemorate  the  last  supper  of  our  Lord. 
There  is  something  peculiarly  solemn  and  affecting  in  every 
celebration  of  this  holy  institution ;  but  the  interest  of  the 
service  has  always  appeared  to  me  to  be  greatly  heightened, 
when  administered  to  the  sick  and  dying  Christian.  Much 
as  these  sacred  mysteries  have  been  abused  by  superstition, 
and  vainly  relied  on  by  ignorance  and  self- righteousness, 
there  does  seem  to  me  to  be  an  eminent  propriety  in  exhibit- 
ing to  the  departing  believer,  "Jesus  Christ,  and  him  cruci- 
fied," in  the  evident  and  significant  symbols  of  the  Lord's 
Supper.  The  weakness  of  nature,  oppressed  by  mortal 
disease  and  pain,  then  especially  requires  the  assistance  of 
these  outward  memorials;  and  although  the  appetite  for 
"  the  bread  which  perisheth,"  may  now  be  nearly  extinct ; 


20  THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 

yet  the  desire  for  that  "  which  came  down  from  heaven," 
and  "  endureth  unto  everlasting  life,"  which  "  the  Son  of 
man  giveth,"  may  perhaps  be  more  than  ever  lively  ahd 
sincere.  The  Christian,  therefore,  entering  on  the  last 
stage  of  his  earthly  pilgrimage,  is  generally  and  justly 
anxious  to  be  supplied  with  that  sacred  provision,  which  is 
to  cheer  his  fainting  spirits,  and  to  support  his  weary  steps 
in  the  dark  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death.  With  this 
blessed  table  spread  before  him,  and  with  the  presence  and 
guidance  of  the  great  Master  of  the  feast,  he  fears  no  evil ; 
his  rod  and  his  staff,  they  comfort  him. 

It  was  under  these  impressions  that  I  met  and  found  my 
poor  parishioner.  To  my  inquiries  as  to  her  bodily  health, 
she  replied  that  she  felt  herself  rapidly  declining ;  but  that 
she  was  much  more  peaceful  and  happy  in  her  mind  th*an 
she  had  ever  been  before. 

"  I  have  been  longing,  sir,  for  this  day  to  come ;  for  I 
can  truly  say  with  my  Saviour  himself,  '  With  desire  have 
I  desired  to  eat  this  passover  before  I  suffer.'  " 

"  I  rejoice  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  I ;  "  and  now  let  us 
pray  that  Christ  may  be  present  with  us,  by  his  Spirit,  to 
bless  us." 

"  I  have  been  praying  for  this,  sir,  before  you  came,  and 
I  do  hope  and  believe  that  he  will  be  with  us,  for  I  come  to 
him  as  a  poor  perishing  sinner,  and  put  my  whole  trust  in 
him  for  pardon  and  salvation.  I  have  been  thinking  this 
morning  of  his  love  in  coming  down  from  heaven  to  save 
us ;  and  how  much  he  suffered,  that  we  might  not  perish, 
but  have  everlasting  life ;  and  now  I  rejoice  in  this  oppor- 
tunity of  receiving  the  memorials  of  his  broken  body  and 
his  shed  blood.  Ah,  sir,  you  see  my  poor  husband  does  not 
take  it  with  me ;  but  I  earnestly  hope  that  when  I  am  gone, 
God  will  give  him  grace  to  become  a  true  Christian." 

We  now  prepared  for  our  affecting  service.     M , 

her  poor  aged  mother,  myself,  and  my  clerk,  were  alone 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE.  21 

present.      M desired  to  be  lifted  up  in  the  bed,  that 

she  might  join  in  the  communion  with  as  much  solemnity 
and  attention  as  her  extreme  weakness  would  allow.  She 
was  accordingly  supported  as  well  as  circumstances  admit- 
ted ;  and  emaciated  as  she  was,  the  delusive  color  in  her 
cheeks,  and  the  brilliancy  of  her  eyes,  animated  partly  by 
the  fatal  fire  of  disease,  and  partly  by  the  more  serene  fervor 
of  devotion,  rendered  her  an  interesting  object  of  contem- 
plation. We  began  our  supplications  to  him  who  corrects 
those  whom  he  loves,  and  chastises  every  one  whom  he 
receives,  that  he  would  have  mercy  upon  her  who  was  now 
visited  by  his  hand,  grant  that  she  might  take  her  sickness 
patiently,  and  recover  her  bodily  health,  (if  such  were  his 
gracious  will,)  and  that  whensoever  her  soul  should  depart 
from  the  body,  it  might  be  without  spot  presented  unto  Him, 
through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.  We  read  the  consoling 
admonition  of  the  apostle,  in  the  twelfth  chapter  of  the  epis- 
tle to  the  Hebrews,  and  the  encouraging  and  inestimable 
declaration  of  our  Saviour,  in  the  fifth  chapter  of  St.  John's 
gospel :  "  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,  he  that  heareth 
my  word,  and  believeth  on  him  that  sent  me,  hath  everlast- 
ing life,  and  shall  not  come  into  condemnation ;  but  is  passed 
from  death  unto  life."  I  shall  not  soon  forget  the  devout 
and  animated  look  of  gratitude  which,  with  clasped  hands, 

M directed  towards  heaven,  while  I  pronounced  these 

delightful  words.  I  must  not,  however,  detain  the  reader, 
by  detailing  every  step  in  the  progress  of  this  interesting 
service ;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  my  poor  friend  joined  with 
the  most  marked  and  lively  devotion  in  every  part  of  it,  in 
the  humbling  confession  of  sin,  in  the  gracious  declarations 
und  promises  of  forgiveness  through  faith  in  the  atoning 
blood  of  our  Redeemer,  and  in  the  glowing  ascriptions  of 
praise  to  Almighty  God  "  for  his  unspeakable  gift."  The 
solemn  and  heartfelt  tone  in  which  she  confirmed  her  hope 
of  eternal  salvation,  through  the  sacrifice  of  Christ  upon  the 

Eleg.  N*r.  15 


22  THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 

cross,  as  she  received  the  visible  emblems  of  his  body  and 
blood,  and  the  tokens  of  his  dying  love,  was  peculiarly  im- 
pressive ;  and  satisfied  me  that  she  was  indeed  "  feeding  on 
Him  in  her  heart,  by  faith,  with  thanksgiving."  Nor  was 
the  deportment  of  her  aged  mother  less  striking  and  edify- 
ng.  There  was  in  her  a  mingled  air  of  grief,  submission, 
and  devout  thankfulness,  which  encouraged  the  best  hopes 
of  her  real  piety,  and  greatly  added  to  the  solemnity  and 
interest  of  this  affecting  scene.  For  myself,  while  my  heart 
was  lifted  up  to  Him  whose  death  we  had  been  commemo- 
rating, in  gratitude  and  praise  for  his  exceeding  great  love  in 
thus  dying  for  us,  and  in  instituting  this  holy  supper,  and  in 
prayer  for  the  sanctified  improvement  of  our  late  participa- 
tion in  them,  I  could  truly  say,  "  Lord,  it  is  good  for  me  to 
be  here." 

So  thought  my  dying  parishioner  also ;  for,  as  I  was 
preparing  to  take  my  leave  of  her,  she  suddenly  observed, 
"  O,  this  is  more  than  I  ever  felt  before." 

Fearing  that  her  exertion  in  sitting  up,  during  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  ordinance,  had  produced  some  additional 
uneasiness,  I  said  to  her,  "  Is  it  pain  that  you  feel  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  sir  ;  comfort,  happiness,  such  as  I  never  before 
experienced.  My  Saviour  is  indeed  with  me.  He  is  mine, 
and  I  am  his.  I  cannot  doubt  that  he  will  forgive  and  save 
me.  He  knows  that  I  love  him  above  all  things,  and  desire 
to  be  with  him  ;  but  I  am  willing  to  wait,  and  to  suffer  what- 
ever he  pleases  to  put  upon  me ;  and  when  the  holy  will  of 
God  is  done,  I  hope  to  dwell  with  him  for  ever  in  heaven. 
[  am  truly  thankful,  sir,  for  this  blessed  ordinance,  and  have 
now  but  little  more  to  do  or  wish  for  as  to  this  world  ;  but  I 
hope  you  will  come  and  see  me  as  long  as  I  remain  here — . 
that  will  be  a  great  comfort  to  me.  Do  not  grieve,  my  dear 
mother,"  (perceiving  her  venerable  parent  in  tears,)  "  it  is 
the  will  of  God,  you  know,  that  my  journey  should  be  so 
6hort ;  but  blessed  be  his  holy  name,  I  feel  that  I  am  in  the 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE.  23 

way  to  heaven,  and  there,  I  hope,  you  will  shortly  meet  me. 
When  Mr.  N preached  poor  Mr.  P 5s  funeral  ser- 
mon, sir,"  addressing  herself  to  me,  "  he  told  us  that  he  was 
gone  to  see  the  King  of  glory ;  and  I  trust  I  am  going  to  see 
him  also." 

"  I  trust  you  are,"  said  I,  "  and  rejoice  to  find  that  you 
are  able  to  look  forward  with  so  delightful  a  hope.  We 
have  prayed  for  this ;  and  now  I  only  hope  and  pray,  that 
God  will  continue  to  be  with  you  ;  that  he  will  sanctify  you 
in  body,  soul,  and  spirit,  and  preserve  you  to  his  heavenly 
kingdom." 

Under  the  influence  of  these  feelings,  I  left  the  cottage 
of  my  poor,  sick  friend,  and  returned  home  with  an  in- 
creased conviction  of  the  infinite  value  of  the  Gospel,  and 
still  more  firmly  persuaded,  by  all  that  I  had  just  seen  and 
felt,  that  it  is  the  grand  remedy  for  all  the  evils  under 
which  mankind  labor ;  that  it  can  give  peace  to  the  troubled 
conscience,  pardon  to  the  guilty,  rest  to  the  weary,  comfort 
to  the  afflicted,  health  to  the  sick,  and  even  life  to  the  dead ; 
that  it  is,  in  short,  what  the  apostle  well  describes  it,  "the 
power  of  God  unto  salvation  to  every  one  that  believeth." 

But  I  must  begin  to  draw  towards  the  close  of  my  vil- 
lage narrative.     Two  days  after  that  on  which  I  made  the 

visit  last  described,  I  again  saw  M .     During  this  short 

interval  her  disease  had  made  a  rapid  progress,  and  I  plainly 
perceived  that  it  would  soon  remove  her  from  a  world  of 
pain  and  sorrow.  Although  considerably  weaker,  and  suf- 
fering more  acutely  than  before,  she  expressed  the  same 
humble,  yet  joyful  hope  of  acceptance  through  her  Re- 
deemer, and  her  earnest  desire  "to  depart  and  be  with 
Christ." 

"  But  I  cannot  help  thinking,  sir,"  said  she,  "  that  I  must 
suffer  more  yet,  before  I  can  be  fit  for  heaven." 

"  You  do  not  suppose,"  I  replied,  fearing  at  the  moment 


24 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 


that  she  might  be  imagining  her  suffering  to  be  in  some 
manner  meritorious,  "  that  the  pain  which  you  endure  can 
purchase  heaven,  or  in  itself  prove  profitable  to  you  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  sir ;  God  forbid  that  I  should  trust  in  any  thing 
for  salvation  but  the  merits  of  my  Saviour.  I  only  meant, 
that  as  I  was  a  very  sinful  creature,  and  deserved  to  be 
afflicted,  and  had  found  the  benefit  of  pain  and  suffering,  in 
weaning  me  from  a  vain  and  worldly  life,  I  should  probably 
have  to  go  through  more  than  I  have  yet  suffered ;  but  per- 
haps I  do  not  express  myself  as  I  ought. " 

"  There  is  truth,"  said  I,  "  in  what  you  say.  You  know 
the  Scripture  says,  that  Christ  was  made  perfect  through 
suffering ;  and  we  may  be  well  contented  to  be  like  him,  if 
we  may  dwell  with  him  for  ever  in  glory.  Every  member 
of  Christ  is  in  a  measure  conformed  or  made  like  to  him  in 
suffering ;  but  his  alone  was  meritorious — ours  is  intended 
to  humble  and  purify  us,  and  God  knows  best  how  much, 
and  what  kind  of  suffering  is  most  suited  to  sanctify  us.  He 
will  not  lay  upon  you  more  than  is  good  for  you,  or  more 
than  he  will  enable  you  to  bear.  Resign  yourself  to  him, 
and  be  assured  that  he  will  support  you  in  every  trial,  and 
make  you  more  than  conqueror,  through  him  who  hath 
loved  us." 

"  1  trust  he  will,  and  do  not  doubt  his  goodness,  though 
I  am  so  sinful  and  unworthy  a  creature."     After  a  short 

pause,  M continued,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  and  hear  you 

again,  sir,  for  my  poor  mother  was  obliged  to  leave  me  yes- 
terday, and  the  neighbors  who  are  kind  enough  to  come  and 
see  me,  talk  almost  entirely  about  worldly  things ;  and  I 
tell  them  I  have  done  with  the  world,  and  only  wish  to  think 
and  speak  of  what  concerns  the  salvation  of  my  soul.  In- 
deed, I  have  but  one  thing  which  gives  me  much  anxiety ; 
and  that  is  about  my  poor,  dear  babe.  I  used  to  think  how 
happy  I  should  be  when  I  had  him ;  but  I  have  never  had 
health  to  enjoy  him,  and  now  I  must  very  soon  be  parted 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE.    '  25 

from  him  for  ever  as  to  this  world  !  Poor,  dear  little  fellow, 
I  can  resign  him  cheerfully  sometimes,  when  he  is  away 
from  me ;  but  as  soon  as  I  see  him,  it  goes  to  my  very 
heart." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  replied  I.  "  It  is,  indeed,  a  painful 
task  for  you  to  leave  him  so  young,  in  a  world  like  this,  but 
'his  father  and  grandmother  will  no  doubt  be  kind  to  him, 
and  take  all  the  care  of  him  in  their  power,  and  he  shall  not 
want  a  friend.  Entrust  him  in  the  hands  of  your  heavenly 
Father.  He  will  take  him  up,  though  every  other  friend 
should  forsake  him,  and  will  not  suffer  him  to  want.  '  I 
have  been  young,5  said  the  Psalmist,  !  and  nowT  am  old ;  yet 
never  saw  I  the  righteous  forsaken,  nor  his  seed  begging 
their  bread.'  Hope  in  God,  that  as  he  has  blessed  you,  so 
he  will  also  bless  your  offspring." 

"  This  is  my  earnest  prayer,  sir ;  and  I  hope  God  will 
enable  me  to  commit  myself,  my  child,  and  my  husband, 
into  his  hands,  to  do  as  it  seemeth  good  in  his  sight." 

My  poor  friend  was  so  much  exhausted  by  her  exertion 
during  this  conversation,  although  it  was  comparatively  a 
short  one,  that  I  was  obliged  to  close  my  visit  more  quickly 
than  usual,  which  I  did  by  reading  a  few  passages  of  Scrip- 
ture suited  to  her  state,  and  commending  her  in  prayer  to 
the  mercy  and  grace  of  God  our  Saviour.  As  I  was  leav- 
ing the  room,  she  repeated  her  earnest  request,  that  I  would 
remember  her  in  my  prayers,  and  that  I  would  visit  her 
during  the  short  remainder  of  her  earthly  pilgrimage  ;  add- 
ing, with  a  sort  of  prophetic  feeling,  that  if  she  should  not 
live  to  see  me  again,  she  trusted  that,  through  tho  merits  of 
that  blessed  Redeemer  in  whom  we  believed,  .we  should 
meet  in  heaven.  See  her,  indeed,  again,  I  did  ;  but  I  regret 
to  say,  that  it  was  only  during  the  state  of  extreme  weak- 
ness and  insensibility  into  which  she  suddenly  fell  a  few 
days  after  my  last  interview  with  her.  I  was  prevented  by 
a  heavy  fall  of  snow  from  repeating  my  visit  till  the  follow- 

15* 


26 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 


ing  Sabbath ;  when,  on  reaching  the  cottage,  I  learned,  to 
my  disappointment  and  sorrow,  that  her  powers  both  of  mind 
and  body  were  nearly  exhausted,  and  that  she  was  wholly 
unconscious  of  what  passed  around  her.  On  entering  her 
room,  I  found  that  it  was  indeed  so ;  and  in  contemplating 
the  dacay  of  the  outward  form,  I  could  only  rejoice  that  I 
had  witnessed  the  renewal  of  "  the  inward  man "  day  by* 
day  ;  that  although  the  "  earthly  house  of  her  tabernacle  " 
was  nearly  dissolved,  there  was  such  solid  ground  for  be- 
lieving that  she  would  shortly  inhabit  "  a  building  of  God,  a 
house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens." 

The  mother  of  M not  having  been  able,  from  the 

fatigue  of  her  former  journey,  to  return  to  her,  I  could  col- 
lect but  little  from  those  who  attended  her,  of  the  frame  of 
her  mind  during. the  short  interval  of  sensibility  which  fol- 
lowed my  preceding  visit.  The  little,  however,  which,  I  did 
gather,  was  pleasing  and  satisfactory.  I  found  that,  being 
aware  of  her  approaching  end,  she  called  for  her  husband 
and  other  relatives  who  were  near,  and  took  a  solemn  and 
afFectionate  farewell  of  them,  declaring,  in  humble  yet  forci- 
ble terms,  her  reconciliation  with  God,  and  her  hope  of  sal- 
vation through  faith  in  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  earnestly 
exhorting  and  beseeching  them  to  flee  for  refuge  to  the  same 
gracious  and  all-sufficient  Saviour.  She  then  desired  to  see 
her  little  boy,  and  commended  him  to  the  protection  and 
blessing  of  Almighty  God,  charging  her  husband  to  bring 
him  up  in  "  the  nurture  and  admonition  of  the  Lord ;"  and 
having  again  urged  them  to  attend  to  the  things  which  belong 
to  their  peace,  while  the  day  of  life  lasted,  she  said  that  she 
had  nothing  farther  to  do  in  this  world,  but  humbly  to  wait 
tor  the  time  of  her  departure  ;  adding,  that  she  prayed  to  be 
entirely  patient  and  resigned,  and  hoped  that  I  should  see 
her  once  more  to  assist  her  in  preparing  for  her  last  trying 
conflict.  This,  however,  I  was  prevented  by  her  uncon- 
scious state  from  doing,  otherwise  than  by  my  prayers  in 


THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE.  27 

her  behalf.  After  I  left  her,  she  revived  only  for  a  few 
minutes,  during  which  she  faintly  but  delightfully  repeated 
her  faith  and  hope  of  salvation ;  and  soon  afterwards  slept 
peacefully  in  the  Lord ;  leaving  on  the  minds  of  those  who 
witnessed  her  departure,  a  lively  impression  of  her  extraor- 
dinary piety  and  heavenly  happiness. 

The  funeral  of  my  poor  parishioner  took  place  on  the 
following  Sabbath.  The  journey  was  too  great  to  allow  of 
her  aged  parent  being  present ;  but  it  was  attended  by  a 
crowd  of  relatives,  who  testified,  by  their  grief  and  regret, 
the  affection  with  which  they  loved  her,  and  the  sincerity 
with  which  they  mourned  her  loss.  A  village  funeral  is 
always  solemn  and  affecting.  The  absence  of  that  ostenta- 
tious and  misplaced  pomp,  which  accompanies  the  interment 
of  the  great,  tends  at  once  to  soften  and  impress  the  mind ; 
and  where,  as  in  the  present  instance,  a  well-grounded  hope 
can  be  entertained  of  the  happiness  of  the  departed,  the  con- 
trast between  the  consignment  of  the  poor  remains  to  the 
lowly  grave,  and  the  recollection  of  the  heavenly  glory  to 
which  the  emancipated  spirit  has  been  exalted,  is  productive 
of  feelings  and  reflections  of  the  most  touching,  yet  animat- 
ing nature.  I  endeavored  to  improve  this  solemn  and  in- 
structive occasion,  from  the  pulpit ;  and  trust,  that  our 
meditations  on  the  frailty  of  man,  and  the  inestimable  value 
of  that  word  of  the  Lord  which  endureth  for  ever,  and  which, 
by  the  Gospel,  is  preached  unto  us,  were  not  altogether  in 
yain. 

1  might  detain  the  reader  yet  longer  by  adding  some  of 
.he  reflections  which  this  subject  has  suggested  to  me.  But 
I  will  only  repeat  that  the  preceding  memorial  affords  an- 
other testimony  to  the  inestimable  value  of  the  Gospel,  which 
thus  evidently  triumphed  over  poverty,  disease,  and  death 
itself;  and  proved  the  source  of  pardon,  peace,  holiness, 
hope,  and  joy,  to  one  who  possessed  but  little  of  this  world's 
goods,  and  who,  but.  for  this  heavenly  treasure,  would  have 


gg  THE  COTTAGER'S  WIFE. 

been  poor  indeed !  The  example,  too,  of  this  interesting 
young  woman,  is  not  only  an  additional  evidence  of  the 
capability  of  those  who  are  in  the  lowest  ranks  of  life,  to 
understand  and  receive  the  great  doctrines  of  the  Gospel, 
but  of  the  nature  and  efficacy  of  Divine  teaching.  My 
departed  parishioner  was  but  little  acquainted  with  human 
forms  and  professions  of  religion.  She  was  taught  and 
drawn  of  God,  and  received,  with  the  simplicity  of  faith  and 
love,  that  ingrafted  word  which  was  able  to  save  her  soul. 

While,  therefore,  I  would  particularly  hold  out  the  ex- 
ample of  her  piety,  as  an  encouragement  to  my  clerical 
brethren  to  persevere  in  their  parochial  labors,  and  to  hope 
for  similar  proofs  of  the  power  and  reality  of  religion  among 
the  poor  of  their  flocks,  let  us,  whether  rich  or  poor,  whether 
old  or  young,  diligently  inquire  as  to  the  nature  of  our  own 
knowledge,  faith,  and  practice.  Let  us  examine  the  foun- 
dation upon  which  we  are  building  our  hopes  of  salvation, 
remembering  that  the  hour  cannot  be  far  distant  which  will 
try  its  stability  to  the  utmost.  1  know  not  that  I  can  express 
a  better  wish,  than  that  we  may  all  possess  the  deep  humility, 
firm  faith,  animated  hope,  and  heavenly  temper,  which  I 
beheld,  and  have  thus  imperfectly  described,  in  "  the  Cot 
tager's  Wife;"  who,  to  adopt  Cowper's  beautiful  lines, 

"  Just  knew,  and  knew  no  more,  her  Bible  true — 
A  truth  the  brilliant  Frenchman  never  knew  ; 
And  in  that  Charter  read,  with  sparkling  eyes, 
Her  title  to  a  treasure  in  the  skies. 
Oh,  blessed  effect  of  penury  and  want, 
The  seed  sown  there,  how  vigorous  the  plant ! 
The  light  they  walk  by,  kindled  from  above, 
Shows  them  the  shortest  way  to  life  and  love. 
They,  strangers  to  the  controversial  field, 
Where  Deists,  always  foiled,  yet  scorn  to  yield. 
And  never  checked  by  what  impedes  the  wise, 
Believe ,  rush  forward,  and  possess  the  prize" 


NARRATIVE   VIII 


WILLIAM  KELLY; 

OR, 

THE   HAPPY    CHRISTIAN. 

BY  REV.   HUGH   STOWELL, 

OP  THE   ISLE   OF  MAN. 


—    !h;V-,;    i    ^     ...  :       .' 


William  Kelly  was  born  at  Douglas,  in  the  Isle  of 
Man,  in  the  year  1731.  He  was  descended  from  poor  but 
honest  parents,  who  resided  in  the  parish  of  Kirk  Bradden, 
on  the  south  side  of  the  island.  At  the  parochial  school  he 
received  so  much  learning  as  to  be  able  to  read  the  holy 
Scriptures.  His  mother  took  some  pains  with  his  religious 
education,  and  gave  him  the  best  instructions  in  her  power. 
Her  labor  was  not  altogether  in  vain;  for  he  took  great 
pleasure,  at  a  very  early  period  of  life,  in  attending  public 
worship.     At  a  proper  age  he  was  put  apprentice  to  a  tailor ; 


2  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY 

and,  having  finished  his  apprenticeship,  he  travelled  through 
several  parts  of  England  for  improvement  in  his  trade. 

On  his  return  to  his  native  place,  he  discovered  strong 
marks'  of  growing  vanity ;  and  both  his  dress  and  behavior 
betrayed  uncommon  levity  of  mind  and  pride  of  heart.  He 
now  frequented  the  company  of  idle  and  dissolute  young  men, 
and  soon  learned  their  vices  and  imitated  their  manners. 

To  supply  his  expenses,  which  began  to  exceed  the  gains 
uf  his  trade,  he  commenced  fisherman,  and  soon  distinguished 
himself  by  his  diligence  and  activity  on  board  the  herring- 
boat,  ani  still  more  by  his  clamor  and  noise  at  the  public- 
house.  He  proceeded  from  one  degree  of  intemperance  to 
another,  till  at  last  he  became  an  habitual  drunkard. 

Before  he  arrived  at  this  "  excess  of  riot,"  he  had  many 
sti  aggies  with  himself,  and  felt  the  horrors  of  an  accusing 
conscience,  and  the  shame  of  a  degraded  man.  Of  this 
part  of  his  life  he  never  spoke,  after  his  conversion,  but 
with  bitter  remorse,  and  the  liveliest  acknowledgments  of 
the  goodness  of  God  in  not  cutting  him  off  while  he  was 
running  so  desperate  a  course.  After  forming  repeated 
plans  of  reformation ;  after  resolving,  and  re-resolving,  to 
quit  the  haunts  of  drunkenness ;  he  still  continued  a  slave 
to  his  appetite,  and  a  dupe  to  his  vile  companions. 

His  extravagance  at  length  arose  to  such  a  height,  that 
his  credit  was  totally  gone.  One  day,  being  unable  to 
satisfy  the  demand  on  him  at  the  public-house,  the  land- 
lady seized  his  hat  as  security  for  the  payment  of  the  debt, 
and  he  was  obliged  to  hurry  home  bare-headed,  grieved, 
ashamed,  and  mortified.  This  circumstance  had  a  power- 
ful effect  on  his  mind.  He  began,  in  earnest,  to  consider 
his  ways  as  a  sinner  against  God ;  like  the  Prodigal  Son, 
"  he  came  to  himself,"  repenting  of  his  sins,  and  earnestly 
desiring  to  forsake  them  ;  but  having  experienced  the  in- 


LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY.  3 

sufficiency  of  his  former  resolutions,  which  were  made  in 
his  own  strength,  and  being  fully  convinced  that  "  all  holy 
desires,  all  good  counsels,  and  all  just  works,"  proceed 
from  God,  he  prostrated  himself  before  the  throne  of  grace ; 
he  earnestly  sought  help  from  above ;  with  a  "  broken  and 
contrite  heart "  he  applied  to  Jesus,  the  Saviour  of  sinners; 
and,  with  an  entire  reliance  on  the  merits,  and  an  absolute 
dependence  on  the  grace  of  this  compassionate  Saviour,  he 
solemnly  and  deliberately  determined  to  "  break  off  his 
sins,"  and  enter  on  a  new  life. 

This  resolution,  formed  in  the  divine  strength,  he  was 
enabled,  by  the  blessed  Spirit  who  suggested  it,  inviolably 
to  keep ;  and  from  that  period,  which  was  about  the  thirti- 
eth year  of  his  life,  to  the  end  of  his  days,  a  term  of  more 
than  forty  years,  he  never  tasted  beer,  ale,  or  any  spiritu- 
ous liquor. 

His  first  step  after  his  conversion,  was  to  abandon  his 
former  dissolute  companions.  Though  frequently  and  im- 
portunately solicited  to  accompany  them,  as  usual,  to  their 
riotous  meetings,  he  could  never  once  be  .prevailed  on  to 
violate  the  solemn  resolution  which  he  had  formed.  He 
"  now  applied  himself  diligently  to  the  labors  of  his  trade,  and 
was  soon  enabled  to  discharge  the  debts  which  he  had  con- 
tracted by  his  former  extravagance.  Often  did  he  mention 
the  seizure  and  releasing  of  his  hat,  and  his  grateful  ac- 
knowledgments to  the  merciless  landlady,  whom  he  always 
regarded,  under  Providence,  as  highly  instrumental  in  his 
conversion. 

The  change  which  was  wrought  by  divine  grace  in  his 
views  and  sentiments,  produced  a  corresponding  change  in 
his  life  and  conversation.  He  became  a  new  man;  his 
manners,  his  habits,  his  pleasures,  and  his  employments, 
were  changed.     The  hours  which  he  formerly  spent  in  the 


4  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY. 

public-house,  were  now  spent  in  retirement.  He  was  fre 
quent  and  earnest  in  secret  prayer.  Often  did  the  rising 
sun  behold  him  on  his  knees ;  and  often  was  the  silence  of 
the  night  broken  by  his  fervent  supplications.  While  his 
hands  were  engaged,  during  the  hours  of  the  day,  in  honest 
labor,  his  heart  was  ascending  to  heaven  in  prayer  ana 
praise.  Many  a  solitary  hour  did  he  beguile  with  "  psalms, 
and  hymns,  and  spiritual  songs." 

He  applied  himself  with  earnestness  and  constancy  to 
the  reading  of  the  Holy  Scriptures.  This  was  his  favorite 
employment  and  recreation.  He  committed  large  portions 
of  Scripture  to  memory,  particularly  the  preceptive  and 
practical  parts.  These  formed  the  continual  subject  of  his 
thoughts.  They  were  inscribed  on  the  tablets  of  his  mem- 
ory, and  wrought  into  the  very  frame  of  his  mind ;  so  that 
they  were  present  to  his  view  at  all  times  and  in  all  places, 
like  a  guardian  angel,  continually  whispering  to  him, 
"  This  is  the  way,  walk  ye  in  it."  Isaiah  30 :  21. 

He  also  found  great  profit  and  delight  in  reading  books 
of  practical  rejigion,  which  he  borrowed  from  all  his  relig- 
ious acquaintance  who  were  in  possession  of  any  treasure 
of  this  kind.  As  a  compensation  for  the  perusal  of  the 
book,  and  a  mark  of  his  esteem  for  its  contents,  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  mending  and  repairing  every  leaf  and  back 
which  stood  in  need  of  repair;  and  poor  as  he  was,  he 
sometimes  gave  a  coat  to  bishop  Beveridge,  and  another  to 
bishop  Taylor.  His  familiar  acquaintance  with  several  of 
our  best  divines,  had  contributed  much  to  give  him  just  and 
correct  views  of  religion.  Horneck  and  Beveridge  were 
his  favorite  authors.  With  the  writings  of  the  latter,  par- 
ticularly his  "  Resolutions,"  he  was  so  well  acquainted, 
that  upon  hearing  him  quote  the  sentiments  of  this  excellent 
writer,  one  might  imagine  he  had  long  been  in  habits  of  in 


LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY.  5 

timacy  with  the  bishop,  or  at  least  had  lived  in  his  family 
for  many  years. 

He  applied  himself  with  extraordinary  diligence  to  the 
study  of  the  Manks  language ;  and  his  proficiency  was  so 
great  that  he  was  employed  as  a  teacher  by  several  per- 
sons  who  wished  to  obtain  a  knowledge  of  it.  In  this  ca- 
pacity the  writer  of  this  narrative  first  became  acquainted 
with  him ;  and  with  gratitude  he  acknowledges  the  many 
Scriptural  lessons  which  he  has  received  from  him,  the 
many  pleasing  and  profitable  hours  which  he  has  spent  in 
his  society,  and  the  lively  impression  which  the  example  of 
this  venerable  man  has  left  on  his  mind,  of  the  power  of 
Divine  grace  to  make  the  profligate  pious,  the  unlearned 
wise,  and  the  poor  happy.  Several  of  the  clergy  of  this 
island  have  similar  obligations  to  their  Manks  tutor,  and 
retain  a  peculiar  respect  and  regard  for  his*memory. 

His  manners  were  so  gentle,  his  conversation  so  cheer- 
ful, and  his  whole  behavior  so  mild  and  courteous,  that  his 
company  was  highly  grateful  to  all  who  had  the  least  savor 
of  piety  in  themselves ;  and  even  those  whose  spirit  and 
temper  were  most  contrary  to  his  own,  were  constrained  to 
acknowledge  that  his  conduct  discovered  how  earnestly  he 
pursued  "  whatsoever  things  are  lovely  and  of  good  report." 
During  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  he  was  subject  to  rheu- 
matic pains,  and  a  complaint  in  his  back,  which  disabled 
him  from  following  his  trade,  except  at  short  intervals. 
The  small  earnings  of  his  former  days,  on  which  he  was 
now  compelled  to  draw,  afforded  but  a  scanty  subsistence. 
On  this  trifling  pittance,  however,  he  lived  contentedly, 
thankfully,  and  cheerfully. 

So  far  was  he  from  murmuring  or  repining,  that  he  was 
continually  uttering  the  language  of  praise  and  thanksgiving 
to  the  God  of  his  mercies.     He  kept  the  bright  side  of  every 

Eleg.  Nar.  16 


q  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY. 

thing  in  view.  When  others  were  complaining  of  the  times, 
of  the  weather,  or  the  crops,  he  would  still  find  out  some 
reasons  for  thankfulness  in  those  very  subjects  of  complaint; 
and  would  remark,  in  his  favorite  phrase,  that "  All  is  from 
Himself" — meaning  from  the  Giver  of  all  good.  A  grate- 
ful cheerfulness  was  the  prevailing  temper  of  his  mind ;  he 
had  a  constant  regard  to  that  passage  of  Scripture,  "  Giving 
thanks  always  for  all  things;"  and  on  every  occasion  he 
supported  the  character  of  a  truly  happy  Christian, 

To  an  intimate  friend  he  once  gave  the  following  ac- 
count of  his  domestic  economy  and  his  daily  expenses.  His 
general  diet,  he  said,  was  bread  and  water.  *  Occasionally 
he  bought  a  pennyworth  of  milk,  which  he  considered  as  a 
great  luxury ;  and  sometimes  he  indulged  himself  with  a 
herring,  which  his  hostess  dressed  for  him  ;  but  he  seldom 
or  never  could  ^o  to  the  expense  of  butchers'  meat.  For 
the  garret  in  which  he  lived  he  paid  five  shillings  yearly. 
He  made  it  an  invariable  rule  never  to  get  any  article  with- 
out paying  for  it,  in  conformity  to  the  precept  of  Scripture, 
"  Owe  no  man  any  thing,  but  to  love  one  another."  In  this 
manner  did  he  pass  several  years  of  his  life,  during  which 
it  may,  with  the  strictest  truth,  be  asserted,  that  his  whole 
expense  did  not  amount  to  five  pounds  in  the  year. 

As  he  approached  nearer  his  end,  he  walked  silently 
and  thoughtfully  along  the  shore  of  eternity,  and  became 
still  more  spiritual  and  heavenly  in  his  conversation.  For 
nearly  the  two  last  years  of  his  life,  when  his  little  funds 
began  to  be  exhausted,  and  he  was  utterly  unable  to  recruit 
them,  it  pleased  that  good  Providence,  who  never  leaves  nor 
forsakes  those  who  trust  in  Him,  to  open  a  door  of  relief  for 
his  faithful  servant.  The  exemplary  piety  of  this  happy 
Christian  introduced  him  to  the  acquaintance  of  a  lady  who 
had  been  long  confined  by  a  painful  disease,  which  termi- 


LIFE  OF  W£l  JJAM  KELLY.  7 

nated  in  her  death.  During  her  tedious  confinement,  she 
found  peculiar  consolation  from  the  visits  of  this  Christian 
friend,  and  often  spoke  of  the  benefit  which  she  derived 
from  his  scriptural  and  edifying  discourse.  Her  friendship 
procured  him  many  temporal  comforts,  which  he  always 
regarded  as  coming  immediately  from  God,  and  for  which 
he  abounded  in  thanksgiving. 

About  this  time,  when  his  wants  were  probably  very 
pressing,  though  he  was  never  heard  to  utter  a  complaint, 
one  of  his  young  friends,  who  had  long  regarded  him  with 
peculiar  esteem  and  affection,  obtained  for  him  a  monthly 
subscription  of  sixteen  shillings ;  and  on  enquiring  whether 
this  would  be  a  sufficient  supply,  the  old  man  with  gratitude 
beaming  from  his  eye,  declared  that  he  did  not  know  what 
he  should  do  with  so  much  money.  The  event  proved  that 
this  was,  indeed,  too  large  a  sum  for  him  to  expend  on  him- 
self; for,  as  the  friend  who  procured  it  afterwards  discov- 
ered, he  made  it  serve  three  other  families.  In  his  visits, 
also,  to  sick  and  indigent  persons,  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
imparting  such  pecuniary  relief  as,  considering  his  ability, 
appears  almost  incredible. 

His  little  library  formed  the  principal  part  of  his  prop, 
erty ;  this  consisted  of  the  Bible  in  Manks  and  English, 
bishop  Wilson's  Exposition  of  the  Catechism,  The  Christian 
Monitor,  The  Minister's  Advice  to  his-  Parishioners,  Evans' 
Meditations,  and  Orton's  Sermons  on  Eternity,  which  was 
one  of  his  favorite  books.  He  had  formerly  possessed 
"  Bishop  Kidder's  Advice  to  Young  Men,"  but  some  person 
had  stolen  it  from  him ;  and  he  ever  after  lamented  the  loss 
of  that  book  as  one  of  the  heaviest  calamities  of  life. 

The  few  books  in  his  collection  he  had  read  and  read 
again,  but  especially  the  Scriptures,  which  were  his  constant 
nourishment,  his  comfort  under  every  affliction,  the  contin- 


3  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY. 

ual  subject  of  his  meditations,  the  favorite  theme  of  his 
discourse,  his  companion  in  solitude,  and  his  counsellor  in 
all  difficulties.  His  acquaintance  with  the  Bible  was  very 
remarkable.  The  historical  parts  of  both  the  Old  and  New 
Testament  were  so  familiar  to  him,  that,  in  recounting  any 
fact  from  either,  he  seldom  omitted  a  single  circumstance ; 
and,  in  general,  related  every  incident  in  the  very  language 
of  Scripture.  The  Psalms  were  his  peculiar  delight ;  he 
had  many  of  them  in  his  memory,  and  was  in  the  habit 
both  of  repeating  and  singing  several  passages  which  he 
had  selected,  with  great  judgment,  from  the  version  by  Tate 
and  Brady.  These,  and  some  of  Dr.  Watts'  Hymns,  as 
also  Bishop  Kenn's  Morning  and  Evening  Hymn,  furnished 
him  with  abundant  matter  for  the  exercise  of  his  talents  in 
Psalmody,  for  which  he  was  particularly  distinguished. 

His  knowledge  of  the  New  Testament  was  still  more 
extraordinary.  The  parables,  exhortations,  and  admonitions 
of  our  blessed  Saviour,  and  the  practical  and  preceptive 
parts  of  the  epistles,  were  all  treasured  up  in  his  memory, 
and  he  would  repeat  them  among  his  religious  friends,  with 
perfect  accuracy,  and  in  their  proper  connection.  What- 
ever was  the  subject  of  conversation,  it  reminded  him  of 
some  apposite  passage  of  Scripture,  of  some  fact,  or  parable, 
or  precept,  which  he  was  sure  to  introduce.  He  abounded 
much  in  religious  anecdote,  and  seldom  conversed,  for  any 
length  of- time,  without  bringing  forward  some  favorite  pas- 
sage from  "  the  great  Authors,"  as  he  termed  them,  which 
he  had  read. 

It  may  be  interesting  and  instructive  to  the  reader  to  be 
presented  with  a  few  specimens  of  his  religious  conversa- 
tion. 

1.  Being  one  day  in  company  where  some  persons,  ap- 


LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY.  9 

parently  religious,  were  speaking  with  much  severity  on  the 
faults  of  an  absent  neighbor,  this  genuine  Christian,  after 
betraying  strong  symptoms  of  uneasiness,  at  length  broke  out 
in  these  words :  "  Come,  come,  my  friends,  if  we  can  say 
nothing  good  of  him,  let  us  say  nothing  at  all.  Shall  I  tell 
you  what  bishop  Beveridge  says  ?  '  I  resolve/  says  he, 
'  never  to  speak  of  a  man's  virtues  to  his  face,  nor  of  his 
vices  behind  his  back.'  And  what  saith  the  apostle  ?  i  Who 
maketh  thee  to  differ  from  another?'  "  1  Cor.  4 :  7. 

2.  Speaking  of  the  danger  of  what  Some  call  little  sins, 
he  used  to  say,  "  A  small  penknife  will  take  away  life  as 
well  as  a  large  sword." 

3.  "  Supposing,"  he  would  say,  "  that  some  very  rich 
man  were  to  leave  me  a  large  estate ;  before  I  had  walked 
round  the  boundaries  and  taken  the  number  of  the  fields,  I 
might  be  called  away.  What  good,  then,  would  the  estate 
do  me  ?  Let  me  take  care  to  secure  the  inheritance  incor- 
ruptible, undefiled,  and  that  fadeth  not  away." 

4.  He  often  dwelt  ort  this  passage  of  Scripture,  "I  said, 
I  will  take  heed  to  my  ways,  that  I  sin  not  with  my  tongue," 
Psalm  39 :  1 ;  and  frequently  repeated  those  passages  in  the 
epistle  of  St.  James,  chapter  3,  which  relate  to  the  govern- 
ment of  the  tongue  ;  and  he  would  enforce  his  admonitions 
by  the  story  of  the  man  who  sent  his  servant  to  the  market, 
to  bring  him  the  best  article  which  he  could  find  there,  and 
the  servant  returned  with  a  tongue ;  being  sent*  a  second 
time  for  the  worst  article  in  the  market,  he  again  brought 
back  a  tongue.  "  I  hear  many,"  he  would  sometimes  say, 
"  complain  of  their  having  bad  teeth,  but  I  have  never 
heard  any  one  complain  of  his  having  a  bad  tongue.  I  don't 
read,  however,  in  Scripture,  of  any  threatenings  against  bad 
teeth;  but  I  find  dreadful  judgments  denounced  against  a 

bad  tongue." 

16* 


|0  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY. 

5.  When  a  child  has  been  running  towards  him,  he 
would  say,  "  My  Saviour  tells  me  I  must  become  like  this 
little  child,  before  I  can  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven ; 
as  free  from  hatred,  and  malice,  and  pride,  and  guile,  as  this 
little  child." 

6.  He  was  very  earnest  and  affectionate  in  his  exhorta- 
tions to  his  young  friends,  and  used  often  to  repeat  to  them 
that  passage  in  the  119th  Psalm : 

How  shall  the  young  preserve  their  ways 

From  all  pollution  free  ? 
By  making  still  their  course  of  life 

With  thy  commands  agree. 

And  he  would  conclude  by  saying,  "  Remember  the  word 
all." 

7.  He  used  to  speak  with  peculiar  earnestness  of  the 
dreadful  consequences  of  drunkenness,  and  the  unreasona- 
bleness and  vileness  of  such  brutal  indulgences.  One  of 
his  remarks  on  this  subject  is  worth  preserving :  "  The 
horse,  when  brought  to  the  water,  will  satisfy  his  thirst ;  but, 
after  that  is  done,  no  power  of  man  can  prevail  on  him  to 
take  another  drop :  while  his  rider  will  drink,  and  drink, 
after  his  thirst  is  quenched,  till  he  becomes  more  senseless 
than  '  the  beasts  that  perish.'  What  return  shall  I  make 
to  the  Father  of  mercies,  and  the  tender  lover  of  souls,  for 
sparing  me,  and  leading  me,  by  his  grace,  to  see  the  error 
of  my  ways  ?" 

8.  To  show  the  necessity  of  an  entire  change  of  heart, 
he  often  mentioned  a  saying  of  bishop  Taylor's :  "  If  there 
be  a  crack  in  a  bell,  there  is  no  possible  way  of  repairing 
it;  it  must  be  cast  anew" 

9.  Another  saying  of  bishop  Taylor's  he  frequently  re- 
peated, with  strong  marks  of  approbation  :  "  Though  I  could 
commit  sin  so  secretly  that  no  person  living  should  ever 


LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY.  H 

hear  of  it,  and  though  I  were  sure  that  God  would  never 
punish  me  for  it,  yet  would  I  not  commit  sin,  for  the  very 
filthiness  of  sin." 

10.  Often  would  he  say,  that  it  was  the  fault  of  hearers 
that  sermons  are  heard  with  so  little  profit.  "  I  never  in  my 
life,"  said  he,  "  heard  a  bad  sermon :  all  the  preachers  1 
have  heard,  warn  me  to  flee  from  sin  ;  and  were  all  hearers 
to  say  to  themselves,  on  entering  the  courts  of  the  Lord's 
house,  '  Take  heed  how  ye  hear,'  they  would  not  fail  of 
profiting  by  every  sermon  which  they  hear." 

11.  "We  must  put  on  the  whole  armor  of  God,"  he 
would  say,  "  if  we  would  come  off  conquerors.  I  read  of 
king  Ahab  being  smitten  between  the  joints  of  the  harness." 

12.  "  Soul-work"  he  would  frequently  say,  "  is  the  most 
important  of  all  work ;  and  it  ought  never  to  be  done  care- 
lessly or  negligently.  Let  me  remember,  while  I  live,  the 
story  of  the  poor  man  who  spent  the  greatest  part  of  his  time 
in  holy  reading,  meditation,  and  prayer ;  and  who,  being 
asked  by  his  friends  why  he  spent  so  many  hours  in  that 
manner,  lifted  up  his  hands  and  eyes  to  heaven  and  said, 
'  For  ever,  for  ever,  for  ever.'  " 

It  would  be  easy  to  produce  many  similar  religious 
remarks  which  fell  from  the  lips  of  this  excellent  man ;  but 
these  may  suffice  to  discover  the  wisdom  which  is  imparted 
by  Divine  grace. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  life  of  this  happy  Christian 
more  remarkable  than  his  entire  abstraction  from  the  cares 
and  concerns  of  the  world.  Having  no  wife  or  family  to 
provide  for,  and  his  own  wants  being  so  few  and  so  easily 
satisfied;  his  mind  was  wholly  occupied  by  spiritual  and 
eternal  things.  He  "  lived  by  faith,"  and  had  literally  his 
"conversation  in  heaven."     He  was  seen  to  glide  silently 


12  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY. 

through  the  streets  and  alleys  of  the  town  like  an  inhabitant 
of  another  world.  The  noise  and  the  bustle  around  him  did 
not  interest  him  in  the  least.  His  -thoughts  and  affections 
were  fixed  "on  things  above."  He  had  but  one  great  con- 
cern, one  grand  end  in  view — "to  glorify  God,  who  had 
called  him  unto  his  eternal  glory  by  Christ  Jesus." 

"  To  a  person  who  was  remarking  that  coals  had  grown 
extremely  dear,  he  replied,  "Coals,  sir,  are  as  cheap  to  me 
now,  as  they  were  forty  years  ago."  This  was  in  reality 
the  case,  for  no  fire  had  ever  warmed  his  little  apartment, 
which,  indeed,  was  furnished  with  neither  grate  nor  chim- 
ney ;  yet  of  this  apartment  he  often  spoke  with  seeming 
rapture.  He  had  found  out  a  variety  of  attractions  in  it, 
which  no  eye  but  his  could  discern.  He  spoke  with  par- 
ticular pleasure  of  the  little  skylight  which  admitted  the 
first  rays  of  the  rising  sun  into  his  room,  and  the  mild  beams 
of  the  moon  which  he  used  to  describe  as  gilding  the  cover- 
let of  his  bed,  and  beautifying  every  object  around  him. 
If  the  walls  of  this  garret  could  speak,  what  a  report  would 
they  bear  of  the  pious  exercises,  the  earnest  prayers,  and 
devout  aspirations  of  its  solitary  inhabitant ! 

•  It  was  his  custom  to  assemble  the  people  of  the  house  in 
which  he  lived,  for  the  purposes  of  praise  and  prayer,  every 
evening,  before  they  retired  to  rest.  The  writer  of  this 
narrative  was  once  present  at  these  family  exercises,  and 
was  highly  delighted  with  his  manner  of  conducting  them. 
A  few  neighbors  had  joined  the  little  assembly.  With  great 
spirit  and  energy  the  old  man  began  with  repeating  several 
practical  passages  of  Scripture,  on  which  he  grounded  a 
short  and  affectionate  exhortation ;  he  then  raised  a  psalm, 
in  which  all  the  little  company  heartily  joined  ;  and  he 
concluded  with  bishop  Wilson's  excellent  form  of  Family 
Prayer.     The  fervent  and  earnest  manner  in  which  he  per- 


LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY.  ig 

formed  these  domestic  duties  was  exceedingly  impressive, 
and  strongly  marked  the  devout  state  of  his  mind. 

The  same  spirit  of  devotion  shone  forth  when  he  joined 
in  the  public  service  of  the  church,  on  which  he  was  a 
regular  and  constant  attendant.  The  delight  which  he  took 
in  the  church  service  was  very  remarkable.  To  him  the 
liturgy  was  always  new,  always  interesting ;  he  joined  in 
every  petition,  with  unabating  fervor  ;  and  his  earnest  man- 
ner of  making  the  responses,  and  his  hearty  zeal  in  singing 
the  praises  of  God,  had  a  remarkable  effect  on  the  whole 
congregation.  This  was  particularly  visible  at  the  Manks 
service,  which  was  set  up  in  the  town  of  Douglas  in  the 
year  1794,  for  the  accommodation  of  the  poor ;  and  at 
which  he  offered  to  officiate  gratuitously  as  clerk.  The 
devout  and  animated  manner  in  which  he  discharged  this 
office,  will  long  be  remembered  by  those  who  attended  that 
delightful  service. 

The  doors  of  the  church  were  seldom,  if  ever,  open, 
either  on  the  Lord's  day  or  on  week  days,  but  he  was  found 
to  make  one  of  the  congregation.  He  often  blessed  God 
that,  for  nearly  twenty  years  of  his  life,  he  had  never  been 
prevented,  for  one  Sabbath,  from  attending  the  house  of  the 
Lord.  This  he  considered  as  an  inestimable  privilege.  He 
was  entirely  free  from  all  bigotry  and  party  spirit.  He  was 
a  truly  scriptural  Christian.  He  loved  and  revered  the 
Divine  image  wherever  he  beheld  it ;  and  one  of  his  favor- 
ite sentiments  was,  that  true  Christians  are  of  the  same 
spirit  and  temper  wherever  they  are  found.  A  few  weeks 
before  his  death,  a  friend  made  him  a  present  of  a  few  of 
the  Tracts  published  by  "  The  Religious  Tract  Society." 
These  he  regarded  as  a  rich  treasure  ;  and  was  in  haste  to 
circulate  them  among  his  aquaintances. 

A  short  character  of  this  inestimable  man  appeared  some 


14  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY. 

time  ago  in  "  The  Manks  Advertiser,"  which  it  may  not  be 
improper  to  introduce  here  : 

"  Much  is  it  to  be  lamented,  that  examples  of  Christian 
piety  are  so  rarely  seen.  They  are,  however,  more  numer- 
ous than  careless  observers  imagine.  In  the  quiet  scenes 
of  domestic  life,  in  poverty,  in  sickness  and  affliction,  real 
piety  often  passes  her  days,  unnoticed  and  unobserved.  A 
few  select  friends,  or  a  narrow  circle  of  acquaintance,  mark, 
admire,  and  love  these  *  partakers  of  the  Divine  nature;' 
but  to  a  busy,  bustling,  noisy  world,  they  are  utterly  un- 
known. With  one  of  these  retired  monuments  of  piety  the 
writer  of  these  lines  has  the  happiness  of  being  personally 
and  intimately  acquainted. 

"  Though  the  lot  of  this  Christian  of  the  primitive 
school  has  fallen  in  almost  the  lowest  class  of  society ; 
though  his  privations  are  many,  and  his  temporal  enjoy- 
ments few ;  though  the  coarsest  viands  furnish  his  daily 
repast,  and  a  neighboring  spring  supplies  his  constant  bev- 
erage ;  though  his  mean  apartment  contains  no  more  than 
the  furniture  of  the  prophet's  chamber,  '  a  bed,  a  table,  a 
stool,  and  a  candlestick,'  yet  is  he  perpetually  cheerful, 
thankful,  and  happy.  He  views  the  bright  side  of  every 
object,  and  traces  the  goodness  of  the  Creator  wherever  he 
directs  his  view. 

"  His  piety  renders  him  a  most  interesting  companion ; 
his  familiar  acquaintance  with  the  oracles  of  Truth  has 
furnished  his  mind  with  the  most  sublime  sentiments,  such 
as  Socrates  would  have  listened  to  with  silent  admiration, 
and  Plato  have  heard  with  rapturous  joy.  His  continual 
converse  is  with  prophets,  apostles,  and  martyrs,  who  have 
taught  him  to  think  well,  to  speak  well,  to  do  well.  He  may 
justly  be  styled  a  practical  Christian,  as  all  his  readings, 
meditations,  and  prayers,  have  an  immediate   and  direct 


LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY.  15 

influence  on  his  life  and  conversation.  He  sees  the  shadows 
of  the  evening  drawing  on,  '  with  hopes  full  of  immortality ;' 
and  his  silver  locks  remind  him  to  pass  his  remaining  days 
as  a  pilgrim,  with  his  staff  in  his  hand,  ready  to  depart. 

"  f  For  these  many  years/  to  use  his  own  language,  '  he 
has  not  promised  himself  a  to-morrow,'  but  closes  his  eyes, 
every  night,  unsolicitous  whether  he  awake  in  this  world  or 
another.  Under  the  homely  garb  and  obscure  appearance 
of  this  lowly  Christian,  the  reflecting  mind  traces  the  future 
angel ;  and  through  the  surrounding  cloud  of  indigence  and 
infirmity,  perceives  a  ray  of  the  Divinity  shine  forth.  The 
period  is  not  very  distant,  when  princes  and  emperors  may 
envy  this  pious  inhabitant  of  a  garret." 

No  wonder  that  the  end  of  such  a  life  of  solid  piety, 
resulting  from  faith  in  Christ  Jesus,  should  be  peace  and  firm 
reliance  on  him  for  salvation.  A  short  time  before  his 
departure,  the  writer  of  these  pages  visited  him  for  the  last 
time,  and  found  him  patiently  waiting  for  his  change.  At 
parting,  a  hope  being  expressed,  that,  if  they  met  no  more 
in  this  world,  they  should  meet  in  a  better ;  "  O  yes,"  said 
he,  with  the  confidence  of  one  who  knew  in  whom  he  be- 
lieved, "we  shall  meet  in  heaven."  In  this  composed  and 
happy  frame  of  mind  he  continued  till  the  hour  of  his  dis- 
solution arrived.  On  Friday,  27th  May,  1808,  he  entered 
into  rest,  in  the  78th  year  of  his  age. 

His  funeral  was  attended  by  a  great  concourse  of  people 
of  all  ranks.  At  the  grave,  a  poor  woman  was  observed  to 
weep  bitterly ;  -being  asked  the  reason  of  her  grief,  she 
said,  that  she  had  for  some  time  past  received  a  weekly  pen- 
sion from  the  deceased,  and  that  by  his  death  she  had  lost 
one  of  the  best  and  kindest  of  friends.  The  gentleman  and 
the  beggar,  the  stranger  and  the  native,  seemed  to  vie  with 


10  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY. 

each  other  in  paying  the  last  tribute  of  respect  to  the  mem- 
ory  of  this  real  Christian.  To  a  numerous  congregation  a 
sermon  was  delivered  from  Rev.  10 :  5,  6,  in  which  the  fol- 
lowing character  of  the  deceased  was  given. 

"  A  personal  and  intimate  acquaintance  with  our  de- 
parted friend,  for  several  years,  enables  me  to  speak  of  his 
religious  attainments  with  much  confidence.  A  more  emi- 
nent example  of  constant  and  uniform  piety  has  seldom 
appeared.  His  religion,  flowing  from  a  heart  renewed  by 
Divine  grace,  was  lively  and  practical ;  not  confined  to  the 
closet,  nor  the  church,  but  regulating  his  thoughts,  and 
words,  and  actions,  through  every  hour  of  the  day,  so  that 
it  might  with  the  strictest  truth  be  said  of  him,  that  he  was 
*  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord  all  the  day  long.'  Long  before  the 
sons  of  business  or  of  pleasure  awoke  from  their  repose,  this 
vigilant  servant  of  the  Lord  was  employed  in  his  room,  or 
in  his  solitary  walks,  in  the  delightful  exercises  of  prayer 
and  praise.  His  earnest  and  marked  devotion  in  our  solemn 
assemblies  was  truly  animating  and  edifying  to  all  around 
him ;  proving  that  he  was  ■  fervent  in  spirit,  serving  the 
Lord.' 

"  It  was  not  in  the  house  of  prayer  alone  that  the  power 
of  Divine  grace  shone  forth  in  the  piety  of  our  departed 
brother ;  but  it  appeared  at  all  times  and  in  all  places. 
When  silent,  his  very  looks  proclaimed  the  devout  exercises 
of  his  mind ;  and  when  he  spoke,  his  tongue  declared  that 
his  heart  was  fixed  on  '  things  above.'  His  conversation 
was  always  cheerful,  edifying,  and  scriptural.  So  richly 
did  '  the  word  of  Christ  dwell  in  him,'  that  he  seldom  used 
any  other  language  than  that  of  inspiration.  To  hear  him 
converse,  was  almost  like  searching  the  Scriptures.  Some 
passage  from  the  sacred  volume  was  the  constant  theme 
of  his  discourse ;  and  particularly  those  passages  which 


LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY.  yj 

speak  of  the  mercy  and  goodness  of  God,  and  the  wonders 
of  redeeming  love.  In  this  marked  religious  deportment 
there  was  not  the  least  affectation  of  sanctity,  but  heart,  and 
tongue,  and  life  conspired  to  testify  that  all  was  genuine 
and  sincere.  His  conduct  in  private  corresponded  with  his 
conduct  in  public ;  and  his  behavior  towards  his  friends  and 
neighbors  was  perfectly  consistent  with  his  prayers,  and 
psalms,  and  hymns.  The  same  divine  principle  influenced 
his  whole  life  and  conversation,  and  constrained  him  to 
abound  in  offices  of  love  and  charity,  to  the  utmost  of  his 
power.  Though  he  had  but  little  to  give,  yet  gladly  and 
cheerfully  did  he  give  of  that  little ;  and  often  has  he  liter- 
ally bestowed  his  last  mite. 

"  The  effect  of  this  steady  and  uniform  piety,  was  con- 
stant peace  and  secret  joy.  The  power  of  religion  to  com- 
municate a  happiness  which  the  world  can  neither  give  nor 
take  away,  has  seldom  appeared  more  evidently  than  in  the 
case  of  our  deceased  brother.  With  few  of  the  outward 
comforts  or  accommodations  of  life,  he  possessed  a  treasure 
within,  which  made  him  richer  than  the  kings  of  the  earth. 
The  description  which  the  apostle  gives  of  the  first  disciples 
of  our  Lord,  may  justly  be  applied  to  our  departed  friend, 
'as  unknown,  yet  well  known;  as  sorrowful,  yet  always 
rejoicing  ;  as  having  nothing,  and  yet  possessing  all  things.' 

"  Very  lately  was  he  heard  to  declare,  that  though  there 

might  be  many  fellow  Christians  as  happy  as  he  was,  he 

believed  there  was  none  happier.     His  happiness  was  built 

upon  <  the  Rock  of  Ages,'  and  grounded  on  the  promises  of 

that  true  and  faithful  Witness,  who  is  '  the  same  yesterday, 

to-day,  and  for  ever.'     His  whole  dependence  was  on  the 

precious  merits  and  grace  of  his  Redeemer.      None  but 

Christ,  none  but  Christ,   was   the    language  of  his  heart. 

Having  ■  fought  a  good  fight,'  having  '  kept  the  faith,'  hav- 
fctaf.  N*r.  17  VOL.  III. 


|3  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY. 

ing  '  finished  his  course,'  he  looked  forward  to  his  dissolution 
with  hopes  full  'of  immortality.'  He  had  long  regarded 
death  as  the  messenger  which  was  to  bear  him  to  his  ever- 
lasting home  ;  and  had  often,  with  pleasure  in  his  looks, 
pointed  out  the  little  spot  where  he  wished  his  mortal 
remains  to  rest%  There  let  them  rest  till  the  morning  of  the 
resurrection,  when  this  distinguished  follower  of  Christ  shall 
be  made  equal  to  the  angels,  and  shine  as  a  star  in  the  fir- 
mament of  heaven." 

From  the  foregoing  narrative,  the  reader  may  learn 
many  useful  and  important  lessons. 

1.  How  unsearchable  are  the  riches  of  Divine  grace, 
and  how  unbounded  the  goodness  of  God  !  Who  that  had 
seen  William  Kelly  in  his  unconverted  state,  wallowing  in 
the  mire  of  sin,  and  "committing  iniquity  with  greediness," 
could  ever  have  supposed  that  he  was  to  become  an  eminent 
example  of  piety,  and  deserve  and  obtain  the  title  of  "  The 
Happy  Christian."  If  the  reader  be  of  the  number  of  those 
careless  and  thoughtless  sinners  who  are  hurrying  on  to 
the  brink  of  ruin,  destroying  their  health,  their  substance, 
their  families,  and  their  peace,  and  exposing  themselves  to 
eternal  misery  by  indulging  in  the  brutal  sin  of  drunken- 
ness— let  him  stop  for  a  moment,  and  attentively  consider 
the  state  of  a  man,  who,  like  himself,  was  once  "  seeking 
death  in  the  error  of  his  ways,"  and  yet  afterwards,  by 
Divine  grace,  was  awakened  and  converted,  "  renewed  in 
the  spirit  of  his  mind,"  and  "  filled  with  all  joy  and  peace 
in  believing."  Let  him  learn  from  this  example  not  to 
despair  of  obtaining  an  entire  conquest  over  his  prevailing 
sin,  and  of  becoming  "  temperate  in  all  things."  Let  him 
not,  however,  delay  one  hour  to  employ  the  same  means. 
Let  him  have    recourse    to   secret  and    earnest  prayer  to 


LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY.  19 

Almighty  God,  for  the  pardon  of  his  sins  through  the  merits 
and  intercession  of  Jesus  Christ ;  let  him  also  attend  to  holy- 
meditation,  to  the  devout  reading  of  the  Scriptures,  and  the 
diligent  use  of  all  the  appointed  means  of  grace.  Let  him, 
like  the  example  now  proposed  to  his  imitation,  earnestly 
pray  that  the  Holy  Spirit  would  renew  his  heart,  and  enable 
him  to  "  cast  away  all  his  transgressions  whereby  he  hath 
transgressed;"  then  shall  he  too  be  "washed  and  sancti- 
fied," and  "justified  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  by 
the  Spirit  of  our  God." 

2.  The  life  of  this  happy  Christian  discovers,  in  the 
clearest  manner,  the  power  of  real  religion  to  give  solid  rest 
and  peace  to  the  soul  in  all  circumstances.  In  a  cold  and 
cheerless  garret,  which  to  thousands  of  the  sons  of  men 
would  have  been  as  comfortless  as  a  prison,  lived  one  of  the 
most  cheerful  and  most  contented  of  men.  To  him  this 
retired  corner  was  the  seat  of  peace,  and  "  the  gate  of 
heaven."  Here  he  maintained  sweet  communion  with  God, 
and  often  "  rejoiced  with  joy  unspeakable  and  full  of  glory." 
The  Bible  was  the  source  from  which  he  derived  perpetual 
consolation.  Like  "The  Shepherd  of  Salisbury  Plain,"  he 
had  often  "  little  to  eat ;  but  his  Bible  was  meat,  drink,  and 
company  to  him." 

3.  The  example  of  William  Kelly  further  shows,  how 
little  will  supply  the  real  wants  of  man,  and  how  indepen- 
dent real  religion  makes  its  possessor  of  the  world,  and  all 
that  it  contains.  While  the  busy  multitude  are  wearing 
away  life  in  toilsome  labors  and  anxious  wishes  to  increase 
their  possessions ;  while  they  are  earnestly  employed  in 
adding  "house  to  house,  and  field  to  field  ;"  and  are  losing 
the  comforts  of  the  present  hour,  in  making  provision  for 
years  which  may  never  coma;  the  contented  Christian,  who 
wants  no  more  than  "  food  to  eat,  and  raiment  to  put  on," 


20  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  KELLY. 

passes  his  time  cheerfully  and  thankfully,  and  enjoys  a  large 
measure  of  happiness  here,  at  the  same  time  looking,  by 
faith  in  Jesus  Christ,  to  a  happiness  hereafter,  which  shall 
never  end.  He  knows  that  there  is  a  sufficiency  for  him  in 
the  inexhaustible  storehouse  of  Providence,  and  is  assured 
that  "  all  things  shall  work  together  for  his  good." 

Few  persons  can  hope  to  benefit  thousands ;  but  every 
reader  of  this  Tract,  if  rightly  disposed,  may  benefit  a  few. 
However  low  his  station  in  life  may  be ;  however  unnoticed 
and  unknown  he  may  pass  his  days ;  he  cannot,  in  these 
respects,  exceed  the  subject  of  the  foregoing  narrative,  who 
yet,  by  the  power  of  religion,  became  eminent,  and  eminently 
useful.  Let  the  reader  from  this  hour  resolve,  by  the  grace 
of  God,  to  imitate  the  bright  example  which  has  now  been 
set  before  him ;  and  following  him,  as  he  followed  Christ, 
he  will,  in  God's  due  time,  join  him  among  the  ransomed 
throng,  who,  through  faith  and  patience,  inherit  the  promises 
in  the  eternal  kingdom  of  glory. 


NARRATIVE   IX. 

THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

AN  AUTHENTIC  NARRATIVE  — ABRIDGED. 

BY  REV.  LEGH  RICHMOND. 


I  shall  plead  no  apology  for  introducing  to  the  notice 
of  my  readers  a  few  particulars  relative  to  a  young  female 
Cottager,  whose  memory  is  particularly  endeared  to  me, 
from  the  circumstance  of  her  being,  so  far  as  I  can  discover, 
my  first-born  spiritual  child  in  the  ministry  of  the  Gospel. 
She  was  certainly  the  first  of  whose  conversion  to  Gcd, 
under  my  own  pastoral  instruction,  I  can  speak  with  any 
degree  of  precision  and  assurance. 

Every  parent  of  a  family  knows  that  there  is  a  very  inter- 
esting emotion  of  heart  connected  with  the  birth  of  his  first- 

born  child.    But  may  not  the  spiritual  parent  be  allowed  the 

17* 


2  THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

nection  with  the  children  whom  the  Lord  gives  him  ?  If 
the  first-born  child  in  nature  be  received  as  a  new  and 
acceptable  blessing,  how  much  more  so  the  first-born  child 
in  grace  ?  I  claim  this  privilege,  and  crave  permission,  in 
writing  what  follows,  to  erect  a  monumental  record,  sacred 
to  the  memory  of  a  dear  little  child  who,  I  trust,  will  at 
the  last  day  prove  my  crown  of  rejoicing. 

Jane  S was  the  daughter  of  poor  parents,  in  the 

village  where  it  pleased  God  first  to  cast  my  lot  in  the 
ministry.  My  acquaintance  with  her  commenced  when 
she  was  twelve  years  of  age,  by  her  weekly  attendance  at 
my  house  among  a  number  of  children  whom  I  regularly 
instructed  every  Saturday  afternoon. 

They  used  to  read,  repeat  catechisms,  psalms,  hymns, 
and  portions  of  Scripture.  I  accustomed  them,  also,  to  pass 
a  kind  of  free  examination,  according  to  their  age  and  abil- 
ity, in  those  subjects  by  which  I  hoped  to  see  them  made 
wise  unto  salvation. 

In  the  summer,  I  frequently  used  to  assemble  this  lit- 
tle group  out  of  doors  in  my  garden,  sitting  under  the  shade 
of  some  trees,  which  protected  us  from  the  heat  of  the  sun. 
From  hence  a  scene  appeared  which  rendered  my  occupa- 
tion the  more  interesting.  For  adjoining  the  spot  where 
we  sat,  and  only  separated  from  us  by  a  fence,  was  the 
churchyard,  surrounded  with  beautiful  prospects  in  every 
direction. 

I  had  not  far  to  look  for  subjects  of  warning  and  ex- 
hortation suitable  to  my  little  flock.  I  could  point  to  the 
graves  and  tell  my  pupils  that,  young  as  they  were,  none 
of  them  were  too  young  to  die ;  and  that  probably  more 
than  half  of  the  bodies  which  were  buried  there,  were 
those  of  little  children, 

I  told  them  who  was  "  the  resurrection  and  the  life," 
and  who  alone  could  take  away  the  sting  of  death.     I  used 


THE   YOUNG  COTTAGER.  3 

to  remind  them  that  the  hour  was  "  coming  in  the  which 
all  that  are  in  the  grave  shall  hear  his  voice,  and  shall 
come  forth  ;  they  that  have  done  good  unto  the  resurrec- 
tion of  life,  and  they  that  have  done  evil  unto  the  resur- 
rection of  damnation."  I  often  availed  myself  of  these 
opportunities  to  call  to  their  recollection  the  more  recent 
deaths  of  their  own  relatives. 

Sometimes  I  sent  the  children  to  the  various  stones 
which  stood  at  the  head  of  the  graves,  and  bade  them 
learn  the  epitaphs  inscribed  upon  them.  I  took  pleasure 
in  seeing  the  little  ones  thus  dispersed  in  the  churchyard, 
each  committing  to  memory  a  few  verses  written  in  com- 
memoration of  the  departed. 

As  these  children  surrounded  me,  I  sometimes  pointed 
to  the  church,  spoke  to  them  of  the  nature  of  public  wor- 
ship, the  value  of  the  Sabbath,  the  duty  of  regular  attend- 
ance on  its  services,  and  urged  their  serious  attention  to 
the  means  of  grace.  I  showed  them  the  sad  state  of  many 
countries,  where  neither  churches  nor  Bibles  were  known  ; 
and  the  no  less  melancholy  condition  of  multitudes  at 
home,  who  sinfully  neglect  worship,  and  slight  the  word 
of  God.  I  thus  tried  to  make  them  sensible  of  their  own 
favors  and  privileges.  Neither  was  I  at  a  loss  for  another 
class  of  objects  around  me  from  which  I  could  draw  useful 
instructions  ;  for  many  of  the  beauties  of  nature  appeared 
in  view. 

Had  the  sweet  Psalmist  of  Israel  sat  in  this  spot,  he 
would  have  glorified  God  the  Creator  by  descanting  on 
these  his  handy  works.  I  cannot  write  psalms,  like 
David ;  but  I  wish  in  my  own  poor  way  to  praise  the 
Lord  for  his  goodness,  and  to  show  forth  his  wonderful 
works  to  the  children  of  men.  But  had  David  been  also 
surrounded  with  a  troop  of  young  scholars  in  such  a 
situation,  he  would  once  more  have  said,  "Out  of  the 


4  THE   YOUNG-  COTTAGER. 

mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  hast  thou  ordained 
strength/' 

I  love  to  retrace  these  scenes — they  are  past,  but  the 
recollection  is  sweet. 

I  love  to  retrace  them,  for  they  bring  to  my  mind 
many  former  mercies,  which  ought  not,  for  the  Lord's 
sake,  to  be  forgotten. 

I  love  to  retrace  them,  for  they  reassure  me  that,  in 
the  course  of  that  private  ministerial  occupation,  God  was 
pleased  to  give  me  a  valuable  fruit  of  my  labors. « 

Little  Jane  used  constantly  to  appear  on  these  weekly 
seasons  of  instruction.  I  made  no  very  particular  observa- 
tions concerning  her,  during  the  first  twelve  months.  She 
was  not  then  remarkable  for  any  peculiar  attainment. 
Her  countenance  was  not  engaging,  her  eye  discovered  no 
remarkable  liveliness.  She  read  tolerably  well,  took  pains, 
and  improved. 

Mildness  and  quietness  marked  her  general  demeanor. 
She  was  very  constant  in  her  attendance  on  public  wor- 
ship, as  well  as  on  my  Saturday  instructions.  But,  gen- 
erally speaking,  she  was  little  noticed  except  for  her  reg- 
ular conduct.  Had  I  then  been  asked,  of  which  of  my 
young  scholars  I  had  formed  the  most  favorable  opinion, 
poor  Jane  might  probably  have  been  omitted. 

How  little  do  we  oftentimes  know  what  God  is  doing 
in  other  people's  hearts  !  What  poor  judges  we  frequently 
prove,  till  he  opens  our  eyes  !  "  His  thoughts  are  not  our 
thoughts,  neither  are  our  ways  his  ways." 

Once,  indeed,  during  the  latter  part  of  that  year,  I  was 
struck  with  her  ready  attention  to  my  wishes.  I  had, 
agreeably  to  the  plan  above  mentioned,  sent  her  into  the 
churchyard  to  commit  to  memory  an  epitaph  which  I  ad- 
mired. On  her  return  she  told  me,  that  in  addition  to 
what  I  had  desired,  she  had  also  learned  another,  which 


THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER.  5 

was  inscribed  on  an  adjoining  stone  ;  adding,  that  she 
thought  it  a  very  pretty  one. 

I  thought  so  too,  and  perhaps  my  reader  will  be  of  the 
same  opinion.  Little  Jane,  though  dead,  yet  shall  speak. 
While  I  transcribe  the  lines  I  can  powerfully  imagine  that 
I  hear  her  voice  repeating  them  : 

EPITAPH  ON  MRS.  A.  BERRY. 

Forgive,  blest  shade,  the  tributary  tear, 

That  mourns  thy  exit  from  a  world  like  this  ; 

Forgive  the  wish  that  would  have  kept  thee  here, 
And  stayed  thy  progress  to  the  seats  of  bliss. 

No  more  confined  to  grovling  scenes  of  night, 

No  more  a  tenant  pent  in  mortal  clay, 
Now  should  we  rather  hail  thy  glorious  flight, 

And  trace  thy  journey  to  the  realms  of  day. 

The"  above  was  her  appointed  task ;  and  .the  other, 
which  she  voluntarily  learned  and  spoke  of  with  pleasure, 
is  this : 

EPITAPH  ON  THE   STONE  ADJOINING. 

It  must  be  so — our  father  Adam's  fall 
And  disobedience  brought  this  lot  on  all. 
All  die  in  him — but  hopeless  should  we  be, 
Blest  Revelation,  wrere  it  not  for  thee. 

Hail,  glorious  gospel!  heavenly  light,  whereby 
We  live  with  comfort,  and  with  comfort  die ; 
And  view  beyond  this  gloomy  scene,  the  tomb, 
A  life  of  endless  happiness  to  come. 

I  afterwards  discovered  that  the  sentiment  expressed 
in  the  latter  epitaph  had  much  affected  her.  But  at  the 
period  of  this  little  incident  I  knew  nothing  of  her  mind. 
I  had  comparatively  overlooked  her.  I  have  often  been 
sorry  for  it  since.  Conscience  seemed  to  rebuke  me,  when 
I  afterwards  discovered  what  the  Lord  had  been  doing  for 
her  soul.    T  seemed  to  have  neglected  her ;  yet  it  was 

VOL.  ITT. 


6  THE   YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

not  done  designedly.  She  was  unknown  to  us  all ;  except 
that,  as  I  since  found  out,  her  regularity  and  abstinence 
from  the  sins  and  follies  of  her  young  equals  in  age, 
brought  upon  her  many  taunts  and  jeers  from  others, 
which  she  bore  very  meekly.  But  at  that  time  I  knew 
it  not. 

I  was  young  myself  in  the  ministry,  and  younger  in 
Christian  experience.  My  parochial  plans  had  not  as  yet- 
assumed  such  a  principle  of  practical  order  and  inquiry,  as 
to  make  me  acquainted  with  the  character  and  conduct  of 
each  family  and  individual  in  my  flock. 

My  young  scholar  soon  became  my  teacher.  I  fust 
saw  what  true  religion  could  accomplish,  in  witnessing 
her  experience  of  it.  The  Lord  once  "  called  a  little  child 
unto  him,  and  set  him  in  the  midst  of  his  disciples,"  as  an 
emblem  and  an  illustration  of  his  doctrine.  But  the  Lord 
did  more  in  the  case  of  little  Jane.  He  not  only  called 
her,  as  a  child,  to  show  by  a  similitude  what  conversion 
means  ;  but  he  also  called  her  by  his  grace  to  be  a  vessel 
of  mercy,  and  a  living  witness  of  that  almighty  power  and 
love  by  which  her  own  heart  was  turned  to  God. 

It  was  about  fifteen  months  from  the  first  period  of  her 
attendance  on  my  Saturday-school,  when  I  missed  her 
from  her  customary  place.  Two  or  three  weeks  had  gone 
by  without  my  making  any  particular  inquiry  respecting 
her.  I  was  at  length  informed  that  she  was  not  well. 
But  apprehending  no  peculiar  cause  for  alarm,  nearly  two 
months  passed  away  without  any  farther  mention  of  her 
name  being  made. 

At  length  a  poor  old  woman  of  the  village,  of  whose 
religious  disposition  I  had  formed  a  good  opinion,  came 

and  said  to  me,  "Sir,  have  you  not  missed  Jane  S at 

your  house  on  Saturday  afternoons?" 


THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER.  7 

"  Yes,"  I  replied  j  ''I  believe  she  is  not  well." 

"Sfor  ever  will  be,  I  fear,"  said  the  woman. 

"What,  do  you  apprehend  any  danger  in  the  case?" 

"  Sir,  she  is  very  poorly  indeed,  and  I  think  is  in  a  de- 
cline. She  wants  to  see  you,  sir  ;  but  is  afraid  you  would 
not  come  to  see  such  a  poor  young  child  as  she  is." 

"  Not  go  where  poverty  and  sickness  may  call  me  ! 
How  can  she  imagine  so?  At  whose  house  does  she 
live  ?" 

"Sir,  it  is  a  poor  place,  and  she  is  ashamed  to  ask  you 
to  come  there.  Her  neighbors  are  noisy,  wicked  people. 
They  all  make  game  at  poor  Jane  because  she  reads  her 
Bible  so  much." 

';•  Do  not  tell  me  about  poor  places  and  wicked  people  ; 
that  is  the  very  situation  where  a  minister  of  the  gospel 
is  called  to  do  the  most  good.  I  shall  go  to  see  her  ;  you 
may  let  her  know  my  intention." 

"  I  will,  sir  ;  I  go  in"  most  days  to  speak  to  her,  and  it 
does  one's  heart  good  to  hear  her  talk." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I ;  "  what  does  she  talk  about  ?" 

"Talk  about,  poor  child  !  why,  nothing  but  good  things, 
such  as  the  Bible,  and  Jesus  Christ,  and  life  and  death, 
and  her  soul,  and  heaven  and  hell,  and  your  discourses, 
and  the  books  you  used  to  teach  her,  sir.  Many  scoff  at 
her,  and  say  they  suppose  Jane  counts  herself  better  than 
other  folks.  But  she  does  not  mind  all  that.  She  will 
read  her  books,  and  then  talk  so  pretty  to  her  mother,  and 
beg  that  she  would  think  about  her  soul." 

"  The  Lord  forgive  me,"  thought  I,  "  for  not  being  more 
attentive  to  this  poor  child's  case."  I  seemed  to  feel  the 
importance  of  early  instruction  more  than  ever  I  had  done 
before,  and  felt  a  rising  hope  that  this  girl  might  prove  a 
kind  of  first-fruits  of  my  labors. 

I  now  recollected  her  quiet,  orderly,  diligent  attendance 


8  THE   YOU  NO  COTTAG-EK. 

on  our  little  weekly  meetings  ;  and  her  marked  approbation 
of  the  epitaph,  as  related  above,  rushed  into  my  thoughts. 
"  I  really  hope,"  said  I,  "  this  dear  child  will  prove  a  true 
child  of  God.  And  if  so,  what  a  mercy  to  her,  and  what 
a  mercy  for  me." 

The  next  morning  I  went  to  see  the  child.  Her  dwell- 
ing was  of  the  humblest  kind.  Jane  was  in  bed  up  stairs. 
I  found  no  one  in  the  house  with  her,  except  the  woman 
who  had  brought  me  the  message  on  the  evening  before. 
The  instant  I  looked  on  the  girl  I  perceived  a  very  marked 
change  in  her  countenance  ;  it  had  acquired  the  consump- 
tive hue,  both  white  and  red.  A  delicacy  unknown  to  it 
before  quite  surprised  me,  owing  to  the  alteration  it  pro- 
duced in  her  look.  She  received  me  first  with  a  very 
sweet  smile,  and  then  instantly  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears, 
just  sobbing  out,  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  sir." 

M I  am  very  much  concerned  at  your  being  so  ill,  my 
child,  and  grieved  that  I  was  not  sooner  aware  of  your 
state.  But  I  hope  the  Lord  designs  it  for  your  good." 
Her  eye,  not  her  tongue,  powerfully  expressed,  "  I  hope 
and  think  he  does." 

"  Well,  my  poor  child,  since  you  can  no  longer  come 
to  see  me,  I  will  come  and  see  you,  and  we  will  talk 
over  the  subjects  which  I  have  been  used  to  explain  to 
you." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  shall  be  so  glad." 

"That  I  believe  she  will,"  said  the  woman  ;  "for  she 
loves  to  talk  of  nothing  so  much  as  what  she  has  heard 
you  say  in  your  sermons,  and  in  the  books  you  have  given 
her" 

"  Are  you  really  desirous,  my  dear  child,  to  be  a  true 
Christian  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  yes,  sir,  I  am  sure  I  desire  that  above  all 
things." 


THE  YOUNG-  COTTAGER.  9 

I  was  astonished  and  delighted  at  the  earnestness  and 
simplicity  with  which  she  spoke  these  words. 

"  Sir,"  added  she,  "  I  have  been  thinking,  as  I  lay 
on  my  bed  for  many  weeks  past,  how  good  you  are  to 
instruct  us  poor  children  :  what  must  become  of  us  with- 
out it?" 

"lam  truly  glad  to  perceive  that  my  instructions  have 
not  been  lost  upon  you,  and  pray  God  that  this  your  pres- 
ent sickness  may  be  an  instrument  of  blessing,  in  his 
hands,  to  prove,  humble,  and  sanctify  you.  My  dear 
child,  you  have  a  soul,  an  immortal  soul,  to  think  of;  you 
remember  what  I  have  often  said  to  you  about  the  value 
of  a  soul :  What  would  it  profit  a  man,  to  gain  the  whole 
world  and  lose  his  own  soul  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  remember  well  you  told  us  that  when  our 
bodies  are  put  into  the  grave,  our  souls  will  then  go  either 
to  the  good  or  the  bad  place." 

"And  to  which  of  these  places  do  you  think  that,  as  a 
sinner  in  the  sight  of  God,  you  deserve  to  go  ?" 

"  To  the  bad  one,  sir." 

"  What,  to  everlasting  destruction  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Why  so?" 

"  Because  I  am  a  great  sinner." 

"  And  must  all  great  sinners  go  to  hell  ?" 

"  They  all  deserve  it ;  and  I  am  sure  I  do." 

"  But  is  there  no  way  of  escape  ?  Is  there  no  way  for 
a  great  sinner  to  be  saved  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  Christ  is  the  Saviour." 

"  And  whom  does  he  save  ?" 

"  All  believers." 

"  And  do  you  believe  in  Christ  yourself  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir ;  I  wish  I  did  ;  but  I  feel  that  I 
love  him." 

Eleg.  Nar.  18 


10  THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

"  What  do  you  love  him  for  ?" 

"  Because  he  is  good  to  poor  children's  souls  like  mine." 

"  What  has  he  done  for  you  ?" 

"  He  died  for  me,  sir  ;  and  what  could  he  do  more  ?" 

"  And  what  do  you  hope  to  gain  by  his  death  ?" 

"  A  good  place  when  I  die,  if  I  believe  in  him,  and  love 
him." 

"  Have  you  felt  any  uneasiness  on  account  of  your 
soul ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  a  great  deal.  When  you  used  to  talk  to 
us  children  on  Sundays,  I  often  felt  as  if  I  could  hardly 
bear  it,  and  wondered  that  others  could  seem  so  careless. 
I  thought  I  was  not  fit  to  die.  I  thought  of  all  the  bad 
things  I  had  ever  done  and  said,  and  believed  God  must 
be  very  angry  with  me ;  for  you  often  told  us,  that  God 
would  not  be  mocked ;  and  that  Christ  said,  if  we  were 
not  converted  we  could  not  go  to  heaven.  Sometimes  I 
thought  I  was  so  young  it  did  not  signify  ;  and  then  again 
it  seemed  to  me  a  great  sin  to  think  so,  for  I  knew  I  was 
old  enough  to  see  what  was  right  and  what  was  wrong, 
and  so  God  had  a  just  right  to  be  angry  when  I  did 
wrong.  Besides,  I  could  see  that  my  heart  was  not 
right ;  and  how  could  such  a  heart  be  fit  for  heaven  ? 
Indeed,  sir,  I  used  to  feel  very  uneasy." 

"  My  dear  Jane,  I  wish  I  had  known  all  this  before. 
Why  did  you  never  tell  me  about  it  ?" 

"  Sir,  I  durst  not.  Indeed,  I  could  not  well  say  what 
was  the  matter  with  me  ;  and  I  thought  you  would  look 
upon  me  as  very  bold,  if  I  had  spoken  about  myself  to 
such  a  gentleman  as  you ;  yet  I  often  wished  that  you 
knew  what  I  felt  and  feared.  Sometimes,  as  we  went 
away  from  your  house,  I  could  not  help  crying  ;  and  then 
the  other,  children  laughed  and  jeered  at  me,  and  said  I 
was  going  to  be  very  good  they  supposed,  or  at  least  to 


THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER.  11 

make  people  think  so.  Sometimes,  sir,  I  fancied  you  did 
not  think  so  well  of  me  as  of  the  rest,  and  that  hurt  me ; 
yet  I  knew  I  deserved  no  particular  favor,  because  I  was 
the  chief  of  sinners." 

"My  dear,  what  made  St.  Paul  say  he  was  the  chief 
of  sinners  ?  In  what  verse  of  the  Bible  do  you  find  this 
expression,  '  the  chief  of  sinners  V    Can  you  repeat  it  ?" 

"  '  This  is  a  faithful  saying,  and  worthy  of  all  accepta- 
tion, that  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save  sin- 
ners ;7  is  not  that  right,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  child,  it  is  right ;  and  I  hope  that  the  same 
conviction  which  St.  Paul  had  at  that  moment,  has  made 
you  sensible  of  the  same  truth.  Christ  came  into  the 
world  to  save  sinners ;  my  dear  child,  remember,  now 
and  for  evermore,  that  Christ  came  into  the  world  to  save 
the  chief  of  sinners." 

"  Sir,  I  am  so  glad  he  did.  It  makes  me  hope  that  he 
will  save  me,  though  I  am  a  poor  sinful  girl.  Sir,  I  am 
very  ill,  and  I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  get  well  again. 
I  want  to  go  to  Christ,  if  I  die  " 

"Go  to  Christ  while  you  live,  my  dear  child,  and  he 
will  not  cast  you  away  when  you  die.  He  that  said, 
1  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me/  waits  to  be  gra- 
cious to  them,  and  forbids  them  not.  What  made  you  first 
think  so  seriously  about  the  state  of  your  soul  V7 

"  Your  talking  about  the  graves  in  the  churchyard,  and 
telling  us  how  many  young  children  were  buried  there. 
I  remember  you  said  one  day,  near  twelve  months  ago, 
1  Children,  where  will  you  be  a  hundred  years  hence  ? 
Children,  where  do  you  think  you  shall  go  when  you  die  ? 
Children,  if  you  were  to  die  to-night,  are  you  sure  you 
should  go  to  Christ  and  be  happy?'  Sir,  I  shall  never 
forget  your  saying  '  children 7  three  times  together  in  that 
solemn  way." 


12  THE  YOUNG-  COTTAGER. 

"  Did  you  never  before  that  day  feel  any  desire  about 
your  soul  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  first  had  that  desire  almost  as  soon 
as  you  began  to  teach  us  on  Saturday  afternoons  ;  but  on 
that  day  I  felt  as  I  never  did  before.  I  shall  never  forget 
it.  All  the  way  as  I  went  home,  and  all  that  night,  those 
words  were  in  my  thoughts :  '  Children,  where  do  you 
think  you  shall  go  when  you  die  V  I  thought  I  must 
leave  off  all  my  bad  ways,  or  where  should  I  go  when  I 
died  ?" 

"  And  what  effect  did  these  thoughts  produce  in  your 
mind  ?" 

"  Sir,  I  tried  to  live  better,  and  I  did  leave  off  many 
bad  ways ;  but  the  more  I  strove,  the  more  difficult  I 
found  it,  my  heart  seemed  so  hard ;  and  then  I  could  not 
tell  any  one  my  case." 

"  Could  not  you  tell  it  to  the  Lord,  who  hears  and 
answers  prayer  ?" 

"My  prayers" — here  she  blushed  and  sighed — "are 
very  poor  at  the  best,  and  at  that  time  I  scarcely  knew 
how  to  pray  at  all  as  I  ought.  But  I  did  sometimes  ask 
the  Lord  for  a  better  heart.0 

There  was  a  character  in  all  this  conversation  which 
marked  a  truly  sincere  and  enlightened  state  of  mind. 
She  spoke  with  all  the  simplicity  of  a  child,  and  yet  the 
seriousness  of  a  Christian.  I  could  scarcely  persuade  my- 
self that  she  was  the  same  girl  I  had  been  accustomed  to 
see  in  past  time.  Her  countenance  was  filled  with  inter- 
esting affections,  and  always  spoke  much  more  than  her 
tongue  could  utter.  At  the  same  time,  she  now  possessed 
an  ease  and  liberty  in  speaking,  to  which  she  had  formerly 
been  a  stranger ;  nevertheless  she  was  modest,  humble, 
and  unassuming.  Her  readiness  to  converse  was  the 
result  of  spiritual  anxiety,  not  childish  forwardness.     The 


THE  YOUNG-  COTTAGER.  13 

marks  of  a  divine  change  were  too  prominent  to  be  easily 
mistaken  ;  and  in  this  very  child  I,  for  the  first  time,  wit- 
nessed the  evident  testimonies  of  such  a  change.  How 
encouraging,  how  profitable  to  my  own  soul ! 

"Sir,"  continued  little  Jane,  "I  had  one  day  been 
thinking  that  I  was  neither  fit  to  live  or  die ;  for  I  could 
find  no  comfort  in  this  world,  and  I  was  sure  I  deserved 
none  in  the  other.  On  that  day  you  sent  me  to  learn  the 
verse  on  Mrs.  Berry's  headstone,  and  then  I  read  that  on 
the  one  next  to  it." 

"  I  very  well  remember  it,  Jane ;  you  came  back  and 
repeated  them  both  to  me." 

"  There  were  two  lines  in  it  which  made  me  think  and 
meditate  a  great  deal." 

"Which  are  they?" 

'"Hail,  glorious  gospel!  heavenly  light,  whereby 
We  live  with  comfort,  and  with  comfort  die. ' 

I  wished  that  glorious  gospel  was  mine,  that  I  might  live 
and  die  with  comfort ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  I  thought  it 
would  be  so.  I  never  felt  so  happy  about  my  soul  before. 
The  words  were  often  in  my  thoughts, 

"  'Live  with  comfort,  and  with  comfort  die.'" 

"  Glorious  gospel,  indeed  If  I  thought. 
"My  dear  child,  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  word 
gospel  ?" 

"  Good  news." 

"  Good  news  for  whonl  ?" 

"  For  wicked  sinners,  sir." 

"  Who  sends  this  good  news  for  wicked  sinners  ?" 

"  The  Lord  Almighty." 

"  And  who  brings  this  good  news  ?" 

" Sir,  you  brought  it  to  me" 

Here  my  soul  melted  in  an  instant,  and  I  could  not 

18* 


14  THE  YOUNG-  COTTAGER. 

repress  the  tears  which  the  emotion  excited.  The  last 
answer  was  equally  unexpected  and  affecting.  I  felt  a 
father's  tenderness  and  gratitude  for  a  first-born  child. 

Jane  wept  likewise.     After  a  little  pause  she  said, 

"  0,  sir,  I  wish  you  would  speak  to  my  father  and 
mother  and  little  brother ;  for  I  am  afraid  they  are  going 
on  very  badly." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  Sir,  they  drink  and  swear  and  quarrel,  and  do  not 
like  what  is  good  ;  and  it  does  grieve  me  so,  I  cannot  bear 
it.  If  I  speak  a  word  to  them  about  it,  they  are  very 
angry,  and  laugh  and  bid  me  be  quiet,  and  not  set  up  for 
their  teacher.  Sir,  I  am  ashamed  to  tell  you  this  of  them, 
but  I  hope  it  is  not  wrong  ;  I  mean  it  for  their  good." 

"I  wish  your  prayers  and  endeavors  for  their  sake 
may  be  blessed  ;  I  will  do  also  what  I  can." 

I  then  prayed  with  the  child,  and  promised  to  visit  her 
constantly. 

As  I  returned  home,  my  heart  was  filled  with  thank- 
fulness for  what  I  had  seen  and  heard. 

Divine  grace  educates  the  reasoning  faculties  of  the 
soul,  as  well  as  the  best  affections  of  the  heart ;  and  hap- 
pily consecrates  them  both  to  the  glory  of  the  Kedeemer. 
Neither  the  disadvantages  of  poverty,  nor  the  inexperience 
of  childhood,  are  barriers  able  to  resist  the  mighty  influ- 
ences of  the  Spirit  of  God,  when  he  goeth  forth  "where  he 
listeth."  "  God  hath  chosen  the  foolish  things  of  this  world 
to  confound  the  wise  ;  and  God  hath  chosen  the  weak 
things  of  the  world  to  confound  the  things  which  are 
mighty." 

Little  Jane's  illness  was  of  a  lingering  nature.  I  often 
visited  her.  The  soul  of  this  young  Christian  was  gradu- 
ally but  effectually  preparing  for  heaven.     I  have  seldom 


THE  YOUNG-  COTTAGER.  15 

witnessed  in  any  older  person,  under  similar  circumstances, 
stronger  marks  of  earnest  inquiry,  continual  seriousness, 
and  holy  affections.  One  morning  as  I  was  walking  through 
the  churchyard,  in  my  way  to  visit  her,  I  stopped  to  look 
at  the  epitaph  which  had  made  such  a  deep  impression  on 
her  mind.  I  was  struck  with  the  reflection  of  the  impor- 
tant consequences  which  might  result  from  a  more  frequent 
and  judicious  attention  to  the  inscriptions  placed  in  our 
burying-grounds,  as  memorials  of  the  departed.  I  wish 
that  every  gravestone  might  not  only  record  the  names  of 
our  deceased  friends,  but  also  proclaim  the  name  of  Jesus, 
as  the  only  name  given  under  heaven  whereby  men  can 
be  saved.  Perhaps,  if  the  ministers  of  religion  were  to 
interest  themselves  in  this  matter,  and  accustom  their 
people  to  consult  them  as  to  the  nature  of  monumental 
inscriptions  which  they  wish  to  introduce  into  churches 
and  churchyards,  a  gradual  improvement  would  take  place 
in  this  respect.  What  is  offensive,  useless,  or  erroneous, 
would  no  longer  find  admittance,  and  a  succession  of  val- 
uable warning  and  consolation  to  the  living  would  perpet- 
uate the  memory  of  the  dead. 

When  I  arrived  at  Jane's  cottage,  I  found  her  in  bed, 
reading  Dr.  Watts'  Hymns  for  Children,  in  which  she  took 
great  pleasure. 

"  What  are  you  reading  this  morning,  Jane  V 
"Sir,  I  have  been  thinking  very  much  about  some 
verses  in  my  little  book.     Here  they  are  : 

"  '  There  is  an  hour  when  I  mnst  die, 

Nor  do  I  know  how  soon  't  will  come  ; 
A  thousand  children,  young  as  I, 

Are  called  by  death  to  hear  their  doom. 

Let  me  improve  the  hours  I  have, 

Before  the  day  of  grace  is  fled ; 
There  's  no  repentance  in  the  grave, 

Nor  pardon  offered  to  the  dead. ' 


16  THE -YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

Sir,  I  feel  all  that  to  be  very  true,  and  I  am  afraid  I  do 

not  improve  the  hours  I  have,  as  I  ought  to  do.     I  think 

I  shall  not  live  very  long  ;  and  when  I  remember  my  sins 

I  say, 

"  *  Lord,  at  thy  feet  ashamed  I  lie, 
Upward  I  dare  not  look ; 
Pardon  my  sins  before  I  die, 
And  blot  them  from  thy  book.' 

Do  you  think  he  will  pardon  me,  sir  ?" 

"  My  dear  child,  I  have  great  hopes  that  lie  has  par- 
doned you  ;  that  he  has  heard  your  prayers,  and  put  you 
into  the  number  of  his  true  children  already.  You  have 
had  strong  proofs  of  his  mercy  to  your  soul." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  have  ;  and  I  wish  to  love  and  bless  him 
for  it.     He  is  good,  very  good." 

It  had  for  some  time  past  occurred  to  my  mind,  that  a 
course  of  regulated  conversations  on  the  first  principles  of 
religion  would  be  very  desirable,  from  time  to  time,  for 
this  interesting  child's  sake  ;  and  I  thought  the  Church 
Catechism  would  be  a  proper  groundwork  for  that  pur- 
pose. 

"  Jane,"  said  I,  "  you  can  repeat  the  catechism  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  I  think  that  has  been  one  of  my  sins  in 
the  sight  of  God." 

,  "  What,  repeating  your  catechism  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  in  such  a  way  as  I  used  to  do  it." 

"How  was  that?" 

"  Very  carelessly  indeed.  I  never  thought  about  the 
meaning  of  the  words,  and  that  must  be  very  wrong.  Sir, 
the  catechism  is  full  of  good  things  ;  I  wish  I  understood 
them  better." 

"  Well  then,  my  child,  we  will  talk  a  little  about  those 
good  things  which,  as  you  truly  say,  are  contained  in  the 
catechism.    Did  you  ever  consider  what  it  is  to  be  a  mem- 


THE  YOUNG-  COTTAGER.  17 

ber  of  Christ,  a  child  of  God,  and  an  inheritor  of  the  king- 
dom of  heaven  ?" 

"  I  think,  sir,  I  have  lately  considered  it  a  good  deal ; 
and  I  want  to  be  such,  not  only  in  name,  but  in  deed  and 
in  truth.  You  once  told  me,  sir,  that  '  as  the  branch  is  to 
the  vine,  and  the  stone  to  the  building,  and  the  limb  to  the 
body  and  the  head,  so  is  a  true  believer  to  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ.'  But  how  am  I  to  know  that  I  belong  to  Christ 
as  a  true  member,  which  you  said  one  day  in  the  church, 
means  the  same  as  a  limb  of  the  body  ?" 

"  Do  you  love  Christ  now  in  a  way  you  never  used  to 
do  before?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,  indeed." 

"  Why  do  you  love  him  ?" 

"  Because  he  first  loved  me  ;  he  died  for  sinners." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  first  loved  you  ?" 

"Because  he  sent  me  instruction,  and  made  me  feel 
the  sin  of  my  heart,  and  taught  me  to  pray  for  pardon,  and 
love  his  ways  ;  he  sent  you  to  teach  me,  sir,  and  to  show 
me  the  way  to  be  saved,  and  now  I  want  to  be  saved  in 
that  way  that  he  pleases.  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  loved 
all  that  he  has  said  and  done  so  much,  that  I  wish  never 
to  think  about  any  thing  else.  I  know  I  did  not  use  to 
feel  so  ;  and  I  think  if  he  had  not  loved  me  first,  my  wicked 
heart  would  never  have  cared  about  him.  I  once  loved 
any  thing  better  than  religion,  but  now  it  is  every  thing 
to  me." 

"Do  you  believe,  in  your  heart,  that  Christ  is  able  and 
willing  to  save  the  chief  of  sinners  ?" 

"  I  do." 

"  And  what  are  you  ?" 

"  A  young,  but  a  great  sinner." 

"Is  it  not  of  his  mercy  that  you  know  and  feel  your- 
self to  be  a  sinner  ?" 


18  THE   YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

"  Certainly  ;  yes,  it  must  be  so." 

"  Do  you  earnestly  desire  to  forsake  all  sin  f* 

44  If  I  know  myself,  I  do." 

"Do  you  feel  a  spirit  within  you  resisting  sin,  and 
making  you  hate  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  hope  so." 

44  Who  gave  you  that  spirit  ?    Were  you  always  so  ?" 

"  It  must  be  Christ,  who  loved  me  and  gave  himself 
for  me.     I  was  quite  different  once." 

44  Now  then,  my  dear  Jane,  does  not  all  this  show  a  con- 
nection between  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  and  your  soul  ?  Does 
it  not  seem  as  if  you  lived  and  moved,  and  had  a  spiritual 
being  from  him  ?  Just  as  the  limb  is  connected  with  your 
body,  and  so  with  your  head,  and  thereby  gets  power  to 
live  and  move  through  the  flowing  of  the  blood  from  one 
to  the  other ;  so  are  you  spiritually  a  limb  or  member  of 
Christ,  if  you  believe  in  him.    Do  you  understand  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  believe  I  do ;  and  it  is  very  comfortable  to 
my  thoughts  to  look  up  to  Christ  as  a  living  head,  and  to 
consider  myself  as  the  least  and  lowest  of  all  his  members." 

"  Now  tell  me  what  your  thoughts  are  as  to  being  a 
child  of  God." 

"I  am  sure,  sir,  I  do  not  deserve  to  be  called  his  child." 

"Can  you  tell  me  who  does  deserve  it?" 

"  No  one,  sir." 

"How  then  comes  any  one  to  be  a  child  of  God,  when 
by  nature  we  all  are  children  of  wrath  ?" 

"  By  God's  grace,  sir." 

"  What  does  grace  mean  ?" 

44  Favor,  free  favor  to  sinners." 

44  Right ;  and  what  does  God  bestow  upon  the  children 
of  wrath,  when  he  makes  them  children  of  grace  ?" 

" A  death  unto  sin,  and  a  new  birth  unto  righteous- 
ness ;  is  it  not,  sir  ?" 


THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER.  19 

"  Yes,  this  is  the  fruit  of  God's  redeeming  love  ;  and  I 
hope  you  are  a  partaker  of  the  blessing.  The  family  of  God 
is  named  after  him,  and  he  is  the  first-born  of  many  breth- 
ren. What  a  mercy  that  Christ  calls  himself  l  a  brother  P 
My  little  girl,  he  is  your  brother  ^  and  will  not  be  ashamed 
to  own  you,  and  present  you  to  his  Father  at  the  last  day 
as  one  that  he  has  purchased  with  his  blood." 

"  I  wish  I  could  love  my  Father  and  my  Brother  which 
are  in  heaven  better  than  I  do.  Lord,  be  merciful  to  me 
a  sinner  :  I  think,  sir,  if  I  am  a  child  of  God,  I  am  often  a 
rebellious  one.  He  shows  kindness  to  me  beyond  others, 
and  yet  I  make  a  very  poor  return. 

11 '  Are  these  thy  favors  day  by  day, 
To  me  above  the  rest  ? 
Then  let  me  love  thee  more  than  they, 
And  strive  to  serve  thee  best  V  " 

"  That  will  be  the  best  way  to  approve  yourself  a  real 
child  of  God.  Show  your  love  and  thankfulness  to  such  a 
Father,  who  hath  prepared  for  you  an  inheritance  among 
the  saints  in  light,  and  made  you  an  inheritor  of  the  king- 
dom of  heaven,  as  well  as  a  member  of  Christ,  and  a  child 
of  God.    Do  you  know  what  the  kingdom  of  heaven  means  ?" 

Just  at  that  instant  her  mother  entered  the  house  be- 
low, and  began  to  speak  to  a  younger  child  in  a  passion- 
ate, scolding  tone  of  voice,  accompanied  by  some  very 
offensive  language  :  but  quickly  stopped,  on  hearing  us 
in  conversation  up  stairs. 

"Ah,  my  poor  mother,"  said  the  girl,  "you  would  not 

have  stopped  so  short,  if  Mr. had  not  been  here.    Sir, 

you  hear  how  my  mother  goes  on ;  pray  say  something  to 
her ;  she  will  not  hear  me? 

I  went  towards  the  stair-head,  and  called  to  the  wom- 
an ;  but  she  suddenly  left  the  house,  and  for  that  time 
escaped  reproof. 


20  THE  YOUNO  COTTAG-ER. 

"Sir,"  said  little  Jane,  "I  am  so  afraid,  if  I  go  to  heav- 
en, I  shall  never  see  my  poor  mother  there.  As  I  lie  here 
abed,  sir,  for  hours  together,  there  is  often  so  much  wick- 
edness and  noise  and  quarrelling  down  below,  that  I  do 
not  know  how  to  bear  it.  It  comes  very  near,  sir,  when 
one's  father  and  mother  go  on  so.  I  want  them  all  to 
turn  to  the  Lord,  and  go  to  heaven.  Tell  me  now,  sir, 
something  about  being  an  inheritor  of  the  kingdom  of 
heaven." 

"  You  may  remember,  my  child,  what  I  have  told  you, 
when  explaining  the  catechism  in  the  church,  that  '  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  ?  in  the  Scriptures,  means  the  church 
of  Christ  upon  earth  as  well  as  the  state  of  glory  in  heaven. 
The  one  is  a  preparation  for  the  other.  All  true  Christians 
are  *  heirs  of  God,  and  joint-heirs  with  Christ/  and  shall 
inherit  the  glory  and  happiness  of  his  kingdom,  and  live 
with  Christ,  and  be  with  him  for  ever.  This  is  the  free  gift 
of  God  to  his  adopted  children  ;  and  all  that  believe  aright 
in  Christ  shall  experience  the  truth  of  that  promise,  '  It  is 
your  Father's  good  pleasure  to  give  you  the  kingdom/ 
You  are  a  poor  girl  now,  but  I  trust,  '  an  entrance  shall  be 
ministered  unto  you  abundantly  into  the  everlasting  king- 
dom of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ.'  You  suffer 
now  ;  but  are  you  not  willing  to  suffer  for  his  sake,  and  to 
bear  patiently  those  things  to  which  he  calls  you  ?" 

"0,  yes,  very  willing  ;  I  would  not  complain.  It  is 
all  right." 

"  Then,  my  dear,  you  shall  reign  with  him.  Through 
much  tribulation  you  may  perhaps  enter  the  kingdom  of 
God ;  but  tribulation  worketh  patience  ;  and  patience,  ex- 
perience ;  and  experience,  hope.  As  a  true  member  of 
Christ,  show  yourself  to  be  a  dutiful  child  of  God,  and 
your  portion  will  be  that  of  an  inheritor  in  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.     Faithful  is  He  that  hath  promised  ;  commit  thy 


THE  YOUNO  COTTAGER.  21 

way  unto  the  Lord ;  trust  also  in  him,  and  he  shall  bring 
it  to  pass." 

"  Thank  you,  sir  ;  I  do  so  love  to  hear  of  these  things. 
And  I  think,  sir,  I  should  not  love  them  so  much,  if  I  had 
no  part  in  them.  Sir,  there  is  one  thing  I  want  to  ask  you. 
It  is  a  great  thing,  and  I  may  be  wrong — I  am  so  young — 
and  yet  I  hope  I  mean  right " 

Here  she  hesitated  and  paused. 

"  What  is  it  ?  do  not  be  fearful  of  mentioning  it." 

A  tear  rolled  down  her  cheek — a  slight  blush  colored 
her  countenance.  She  lifted  up  her  eyes  to  heaven  for  a 
moment,  and  fixing  them  on  me,  with  a  solemn,  affecting 
look,  said, 

"  May  so  young  a  poor  child  as  I  am  be  admitted  to  the 
Lord's  supper  ?  I  have  for  some  time  wished  it,  but  dared 
not  to  mention  it,  for  fear  you  should  think  it  wrong." 

"  My  dear  Jane,  I  have  no  doubt  respecting  it,*  and 
shall  be  very  glad  to  converse  with  you  on  the  subject, 
and  hope  that  He  who  has  given  you  the  desire,  will  bless 
his  own  ordinance  to  your  soul.  Would  you  wish  it  now, 
or  to-morrow  ?" 

"  To-morrow,  if  you  please,  sir — Will  you  come  to-mor- 
row and  talk  to  me  about  it  ?  and  if  you  think  it  proper,  I 
shall  be  thankful.  I  am  growing  faint  now — I  hope  to  be 
better  when  you  come  again." 

I  was  much  pleased  with  her  proposal,  and  rejoiced  in 
the  prospect  of  seeing  so  young  and  sincere  a  Christian 
thus  devote  herself  to  the  Lord,  and  receive  the  memo- 
rials of  a  Saviour's  love  to  her  soul. 

*  It  will  be  perceived,  that  this  interesting  and  excellent  Tract 
is  from  the  pen  of  a  devout  Episcopalian ;  and  in  publishing  this 
incident  entire,  it  may  be  proper  to  say,  that  the  Publishing  Com- 
mittee would  not  be  understood  to  express  any  opinion  in  relation 
to  the  practice  of  administering  the  Lord's  supper  in  private. 

Eleg.  Nar.  19 


22  THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

Disease  was  making  rapid  inroads  upon  her  constitu- 
tion, and  she  was  aware  of  it.  But  as  the  outward  man 
decayed,  she  was  strengthened  with  might  by  God's  Spirit 
in  the  inner  man.  She  was  evidently  ripening  fast  for  a 
better  world. 

I  remember  these  things  with  affectionate  pleasure. 
I  hope  the  recollection  does  me  good.  I  wish  them  to  do 
good  to  thee,  likewise,  my  reader ;  and  therefore  I  write 
them  down. 

I  was  so  much  affected  with  my  last  visit  to  little 
Jane,  and  particularly  with  her  tender  anxiety  respecting 
the  Lord's  supper,  that  it  formed  the  chief  subject  of  my 
thoughts  for  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

I  rode  in  the  afternoon  to  a  favorite  spot,  where  I 
sometimes  indulged  in  solitary  meditation ;  and  where  I 
wished  to  reflect  on  the  interesting  case  of  my  little  dis- 
ciple. 

The  next  morning  I  went  to  Jane's  cottage.  On  en- 
tering the  door,  the  woman  who  so  frequently  visited  her 
met  me,  and  said, 

"  Perhaps,  sir,  you  will  not  wake  her  just  yet ;  for  she 
has  dropped  asleep,  as  she  seldom  gets  much  rest,  poor 
girl." 

I  went  gently  up  stairs.  The  child  was  in  a  half-sit- 
ting posture,  leaning  her  head  upon  her  right  hand,  with 
her  Bible  open  before  her.  She  had  evidently  fallen 
asleep  while  reading.  Her  countenance  was  beautifully 
composed  and  tranquil.  A  few  tears  had  rolled  down  her 
cheek,  and  probably  unknown  to  her,  dropped  upon  the 
pages  of  her  book. 

I  looked  around  me  for  a  moment.  The  room  was  out- 
wardly comfortless  and  uninviting  ;  the  walls  out  of  repair ; 
the  sloping  roof  somewhat  shattered  ;  the  floor  broken  and 


THE  YOUNG-  COTTAGER.  23 

uneven  ;  no  furniture  but  two  tottering  bedsteads,  a  three- 
legged  stool,  and  an  old  oak  chest — the  window  broken  in 
many  places,  and  mended  with  patches  of  paper.  A  little 
shelf  against  the  wall,  over  the  bedstead  where  Jane  lay, 
served  for  her  medicine,  her  food,  and  her  books. 

"  Yet  here/7  I  said  to  myself,  "  lies  an  heir  of  glory 
waiting  for  a  happy  dismissal.  Her  earthly  home  is  poor 
indeed  ;  but  she  has  a  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal 
in  the  heavens.  She  has  little  to  attach  her  to  this  world  ; 
but  what  a  weight  of  glory  in  the  world  to  come  !  This 
mean,  despised  chamber,  is  a  palace  in  the  eye  of  faith,  for 
it  contains  one  that  is  an  inheritor  of  a  crown." 

I  approached  without  waking  her,  and  observed  that 
she  had  been  reading  the  twenty-third  chapter  of  St.  Luke. 
The  finger  of  her  left  hand  lay  upon  the  book,  pointing  to 
the  words,  as  if  she  had  been  using  it  to  guide  her  eye 
while  she  read.  I  looked  at  the  place,  and  was  pleased 
at  the  apparently  casual  circumstance  of  her  finger  point- 
ing to  these  words :  "  Lord,  remember  me  when  thou 
comest  into  thy  kingdom." 

"Is  this  casual,  or  designed?"  thought  I.  "Either 
way  it  is  remarkable."  But  in  another  moment  I  discov- 
ered that  her  finger  was  indeed  an  index  to  the  thoughts 
of  her  heart.  She  half  awoke  from  her  dozing  state,  but 
not  sufficiently  so  to  perceive  that  any  person  was  pres- 
ent, and  said  in  a  kind  of  a  whisper, 

"  Lord,  remember  me — remember  me — remember — 
remember  a  poor  child — Lord,  remember  me " 

She  then  suddenly  started,  and  perceived  me,  as  she 
became  fully  awake  :  a  faint  blush  overspread  her  cheeks 
for  a  moment,  and  then  disappeared. 

"  Dame  K ,  how  long  have  I  been  asleep  ?     Sir,  I 

am  very  sorry •" 

"And  I  am  very  glad  to  find  you  thus,"  I  replied  :  "you 


24  THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

may  say  with  David,  1 1  laid  me  down  and  slept ;  I  awaked  ; 
for  the  Lord  sustained  me.'     What  were  you  reading  ?" 

"  The  history  of  the  crucifying  of  Jesus,  sir." 

"  How  far  had  you  read  when  you  fell  asleep  V9 

"To  the  prayer  of  the  thief  that  was  crucified  with 
him  ;  and  when  I  came  to  that  place  I  stopped,  and  thought 
what  a  mercy  it  would  be,  if  the  Lord  Jesus  should  re- 
member me  likewise — and  so  I  fell  asleep,  and  I  fancied 
in  rny  dream  that  I  saw  Christ  upon  the  cross ;  and  I 
thought  I  said,  '  Lord,  remember  me ' — and  I  am  sure  he 
did  not  look  angry  upon  me — and  then  I  awoke." 

All  this  seemed  to  be  a  sweet  commentary  on  the  text, 
and  a  most  suitable  forerunner  of  our  intended  sacramen- 
tal service. 

"  Well,  my  dear  child,  I  am  come,  as  you  wished  me, 
to  administer  the  memorials  of  the  body  and  blood  of  our 

blessed  Saviour  to  you  ;  and  I  dare  say  neighbor  K 

will  be  glad  to  join  us." 

"  Talk  to  me  a  little  about  it  first,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"  Well,  you  know  this  is  an  institution  established  by 
Christ  himself.  The  Lord  has  ordained  bread  and  wine  in 
the  holy  supper,  as  the  outward  mark  which  we  behold 
with  our  eyes.  It  is  a  token  of  his  love,  grace,  and  bless- 
ing, which  he  promises  to,  and  bestows  on  all  who  receive 
it,  rightly  believing  on  his  name  and  work.  He,  in  this 
manner,  preserves  among  us  a  continual  remembrance  ol 
his  death,  and  of  the  benefits  which  we  receive  thereby. 

"  What  do  you  believe  respecting  the  death  of  Christ, 
Jane  ?" 

"  That  because  he  died,  sir,  we  live." 

"  What  life  do  we  live  thereby  ?" 

"  The  life  of  grace  and  mercy  now,  and  the  life  of  glory 
and  happiness  hereafter ;  is  it  not,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes,  assuredly :  this  is  the  fruit  of  the  death  of  Christ ; 


THE  YOUNG-  COTTAGER.  25 

and  thus  he  opened  the  kingdom  of  heaven  to  all  believers. 
As  bread  and  wine  strengthen  and  refresh  your  poor 
weak,  fainting  body,  in  this  very  sickness ;  so  does  the 
blessing  of  his  body  and  blood  strengthen  and  refresh  the 
souls  of  all  those  that  repose  their  faith,  hope,  and  affec- 
tions on  Him  who  loved  us  and  gave  himself  for  us." 

Tears  ran  down  her  cheeks  as  she  said,  "  0,  what  a 
Saviour  ! — 0,  what  a  sinner  ! — How  kind — how  good ! 
And  is  this  for  me  ?" 

"Fear  not,  my  child:  He  that  has  made  you  to  love 
him  thus,  loves  you  too  well  to  deny  you.  He  will  in  no 
wise  cast  out  any  that  come  to  him." 

"Sir,"  said  the  girl,  "I  can  never  think  about  Jesus, 
and  his  love  to  sinners,  without  wondering  how  it  can  be. 
I  deserve  nothing  but  his  anger  on  account  of  my  sins  : 
why  then  does  he  love  me  ?  My  heart  is  evil :  why  then 
does  he  love  me  ?  I  continually  forget  all  his  goodness  : 
why  then  does  he  love  me  ?  I  neither  pray  to  him,  nor 
thank  him,  nor  do  any  thing,  as  I  ought  to  do :  why  then 
such  love  to  me  V* 

"  How  plain  it  is  that  all  is  mercy  from  first  to  last ! 
and  that  sweetens  the  blessing,  my  child.  Are  you  not 
willing  to  give  Christ  all  the  honor  of  your  salvation,  and 
to  take  all  the  blame  of  your  sins  on  your  own  self?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  sir,  I  am.     My  hymn  says, 

" ;  Blest  be  the  Lord,  that  sent  his  Son 

To  take  our  flesh  and  blood ; 

He  for  our  lives  gave  up  his  own, 

To  make  our  peace  with  God. 

He  honored  all  his  Father's  laws, 

*  Which  we  have  disobeyed  ; 
He  bore  our  sins  upon  the  cross, 
And  our  full  ransom  paid.' " 

"  I  am  glad  you  remember  your  hymns  so  well,  Jane." 
"  Sir,  you  don't  know  what  pleasure  they  give  me.     I 

19* 


26  THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

am  very  glad  you  gave  me  that  little  book  of  hymns  for 
children." 

A  severe  fit  of  coughing  interrupted  her  speech  for  a 
while.  The  woman  held  her  head.  It  was  distressing  to 
observe  her  struggle  for  breath,  and  almost  as  it  were  for 
i  life. 

"Poor  dear!"  said  the  woman,  "I  wish  I  could  help 
thee,  and  ease  thy  pains ;  but  they  will  not  last  for 
ever." 

"God  helps  me,"  said  the  girl,  recovering  her  breath, 
"God  helps  me  ;  he  will  carry  me  through.  Sir,  you  look 
frightened — I  am  not  afraid — this  is  nothing — I  am  better 
now.  Thank  you,  dame,  thank  you.  I  am  very  trouble- 
some ;  but  the  Lord  will  bless  you  for  this  and  all  your 
kindness  to  me  :  yes,  sir,  and  yours  too.  Now  talk  to  me 
again  about  the  Lord's  supper." 

"What  is  required,  Jane,  of  them  who  come  to  the 
Lord's  supper?  There  are  five  things  named  in  the  Cate- 
chism— do  you  remember  what  is  the  first  ?" 

She  paused  ;  and  then  said  with  a  solemn  and  intelli- 
gent look,  "To  examine  themselves  whether  they  repent 
truly  of  their  former  sins." 

"I  hope  and  think  that  you  know  what  this  means, 
Jane  :  the  Lord  has  given  you  the  spirit  of  repentance." 

"No  one  knows,  sir,  what  the  thoughts  of  past  sins 
have  been  to  me.  Yes,  the  Lord  knows,  and  that  is 
enough ;  and  I  hope  he  forgives  me  for  Christ's  sake. 
His  blood  cleanseth  from  all  sin.  Sir,  I  sometimes  think 
of  my  sins  till  I  tremble,  and  it  makes  me  cry  to  think 
that  I  have  offended  such  a  God ;  and  then  he  comforts 
me  again  with  sweet  thoughts  about  Christ." 

"  It  is  well,  my  child  ;  be  it  so.  The  next  thing  men- 
tioned in  that  answer  of  your  Catechism,  what  is  it  ?" 

"Steadfastly  purposing  to  lead  a  new  life." 


THE  YOUNG  COTTAG-ER.  27 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"My  life,  sir,  will  be  a  short  one  ;  and  I  wish  it  had 
been  a  better  one.  But  from  my  heart  I  desire  that  it  may 
be  a  new  one  for  the  time  to  come.  I  want  to  forsake  all 
my  evil  ways  and  thoughts,  and  evil  words,  and  evil  com- 
panions ;  and  to  do  what  God  bids  me  and  what  you  tell 
me  is  right,  sir,  and  what  I  read  of  in  my  Bible.  But  I 
am  afraid  I  do  not,  my  heart  is  so  full  of  sin.  However, 
sir,  I  pray  to  God  to  help  me.  My  days  will  be  few  j  but 
I  wish  they  may  be  spent  to  the  glory  of  God." 

"The  blessing  of  the  Lord  be  upon  you,  Jane  ;  so 
that,  whether  you  live,  you  may  live  to  the  Lord ;  or 
whether  you  die,  you  may  die  unto  the  Lord  ;  and  that, 
living  or  dying,  you  may  be  the  Lord's.  What  is  the 
next  thing  mentioned  ?" 

"To  have  a  lively  faith  in  God's  mercy  through  Christ, 
sir." 

"Do  you  believe  that  God  is  merciful  to  you  in  the 
pardon  of  your  sins  ?" 

"I  do,  sir,"  said  the  child,  earnestly. 

"And  if  he  pardons  you,  is  it  for  your  own  sake, 
Jane?" 

"No,  sir,  no:  it  is  for  Christ's  sake,  for  my  Saviour 
Jesus  Christ's  sake,  and  that  only — Christ  is  all." 

"  Can  you  trust  him  ?" 

"Sir,  I  must  not  mistrust  him-;  nor  would  I  if  I  might." 

"Eight,  child  ;  he  is  worthy  of  all  your  trust." 

"And  then,  sir,  I  am  to  have  a  thankful  remembrance 
of  his  death.  I  can  never  think  of  his  dying,  but  I  think 
also  what  a  poor  unworthy  creature  I  am  ;  and  yet  he  is 
so  good  to  me.  I  wish  I  could  thank  him.  Sir,  I  have 
been  reading  about  his  death.  How  could  the  people  do 
as  they  did  to  him  ?  But  it  was  all  for  our  salvation.  And 
then  the  thief  on  the  cross — that  is  beautiful.     I  hope  he 


28  THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

will  remember  me  too,  and  that  I  shall  always  remember 
him  and  his  death  most  thankfully." 

"And  lastly,  Jane,  are  you  in  charity  with  all  men? 
Do  you  forgive  all  that  have  offended  you?  Do  you  bear 
ill-will  in  your  heart  to  any  body  ?" 

"Dear  sir,  no  ;  how  can  I?  If  God  is  so  good  to  me, 
if  he  forgives  me,  how  can  I  help  forgiving  others  ?  There 
is  not  a  person  in  all  the  world,  I  think,  sir,  to  whom  I  do 
not  wish  well  for  Christ's  sake,  and  that  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart." 

"How  do  you  feel  in  regard  to  those  bold,  wanton,  ill- 
tempered  girls  at  the  next  door,  who  jeer  and  mock  you 
so  about  your  religion  ?" 

"Sir,  the  worst  thing  I  wish  them  is,  that  God  may 
give  them  grace  to  repent ;  that  he  may  change  their 
hearts,  and  pardon  all  their  wicked  ways  and  words.  May 
he  forgive  them,  as  I  do  with  all  my  soul !" 

She  ceased — I  wished  to  ask  no  more.  My  heart  was 
full.  "Can  this  be  the  religion  of  a  child?"  thought  I; 
"0  that  we  were  all  children  like  her  !" 

I  then  said,  "My  dear  friends,  I  will  now,  with  God's 
blessing,  partake  with  you  in  the  holy  communion  of  our 
Lord's  body  and  blood." 

The  time  was  sweet  and  solemn.  I  went  through  the 
sacramental  service. 

The  countenance  and  manner  of  the  child  evinced  pow- 
erful feelings.  Tears  mingled  with  smiles ;  resignation 
brightened  by  hope  ;  humility  animated  by  faith  ;  childlike 
modesty  adorned  with  the  understanding  of  a  riper  age ; 
gratitude,  peace,  devotion,  patience — all  these  were  visible. 

When  I  had  concluded  the  service,  I  said,  "Now,  my 
dear  Jane,  you  are  indeed  a  sister  in  the  church  of  Christ. 
May  his  Spirit  and  blessing  rest  upon  you — strengthen 
and  refresh  you !" 


THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER.  29 

"My  mercies  are  great,  very  great,  sir,  greater  than  I 
can  express — I  thank  you  for  this  favor — I  thought  I  was 
too  young — it  seemed  too  much  for  me  to  think  of ;  but  I 
am  now  sure  the  Lord  is  good  to  me,  and  I  hope  I  have 
done  right." 

"Yes,  Jane  ;  and  I  trust  you  are  sealed  by  the  Holy 
Ghost  to  the  day  of  redemption." 

"Sir,  I  shall  never  forget  this  day." 

"Neither,  I  think,  shall  I." 

"Nor  I,"  said  the  good  old  woman;  "sure  the  Lord 
has  been  here  in  the  midst  of  us  three  to-day,  while  we 
have  been  gathered  together  in  his  name." 

"Sir,"  said  the  child,  "I  wish  you  could  speak  to  my 
mother  when  you  come  again.  I  am  so  grieved  about 
her  soul ;  and  I  am  afraid  she  cares  nothing  at  all  about 
it  herself." 

"I  hope  I  shall  have  an  opportunity  the  next  time  I 
come.     Farewell,  my  child." 

"  Good-by,  sir,  and  I  thank  you  for  all  your  kindness 
to  me." 

"  Surely,"  I  thought  within  myself  as  I  left  the  cottage, 
"  this  young  bud  of  grace  will  bloom  beauteously  in  para- 
dise. The  Lord  transplant  it  thither  in  his  own  good  time  ! 
Yet,  if  it  be  his  will,  may  she  live  a  little  longer,  that  I 
may  farther  profit  by  her  conversation  and  example." 

Jane  was  hastening  fast  to  her  dissolution.  She  still, 
however,  preserved  sufficient  strength  to  converse  with 
much  satisfaction  to  herself  and  those  who  visited  her. 
Such  as  could  truly  estimate  the  value  of  her  spiritual  state 
of  mind  were  but  few  ;  yet  the  most  careless  could  not  help 
being  struck  with  her  affectionate  seriousness,  her  know- 
ledge of  the  Scriptures,  and  her  happy  application  of  them  to 
her  own  case.     "The  holy  spark  divine,"  which  regenerat- 

VOL.  III. 


30  THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

ing  grace  had  implanted  in  her  heart,  brightened  as  she 
drew  near  the  close  of  life,  and  kindled  into  a  flame  which 
warmed  and  animated  the  beholder.  To  some,  I  am  per- 
suaded, her  example  and  conversation  were  made  a  bless- 
ing. Memory  reflects  with  gratitude,  while  I  write,  on  the 
profit  and  consolation  which  I  individually  derived  from  her 
society.  Nor  I  alone.  The  last  day  will,  if  I  err  not,  disclose 
farther  fruits,  resulting  from  the  love  of  God  to  this  little 
child  ;  and,  through  her,  to  others  that  saw  her.  And  may 
not  hope  indulge  the  prospect,  that  this  simple  memorial  of 
her  history  shall  be  as  an  arrow  drawn  from  the  quiver  of 
the  Almighty  to  reach  the  heart  of  the  young  and  thought- 
less ?  Direct  its  course,  0  my  God  1  May  the  eye  that 
reads,  and  the  ear  that  hears,  the  record  of  little  Jane, 
through  the  power  of  the  Spirit  of  the  Most  High,  each 
become  a  witness  for  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus ! 

I  remembered  the  tender  solicitude  of  this  dear  child 
for  her  mother.  I  well  knew  what  a  contrast  the  disposi- 
tions and  conduct  of  her  parents  exhibited,  when  compar- 
ed with  her  own. 

I  resolved  to  avail  myself  of  the  first  opportunity  I 
could  seize,  to  speak  to  the  mother  in  the  child's  presence. 
One  morning  soon  after  the  interview  above  related,  I 
chose  another  path  for  my  visit.  The  distance  was  not 
quite  half  a  mile  from  my  house.  The  path  was  retired. 
I  hereby  avoided  the  noise  and  interruption  which  even  a 
village  street  will  sometimes  present  to  disturb  the  calm- 
ness of  interesting  meditation. 

As  I  passed  through  the  churchyard  and  cast  my  eye 
on  the  memorable  epitaph,  "Soon,"  I  thought  within  me, 
"will  my  poor  little  Jane  mingle  her  mouldering  remains 
with  this  dust,  and  sleep  with  her  fathers  !  Soon  will  the 
j^outhful  tongue,  which  now  lisps  hosannas  to  the  Son  of 
David,  and  delights  my  heart  with  the  evidences  of  early 


THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER.  31 

piety  and  grace,  be  silent  in  the  earth !  Soon  shall  I  be 
called  to  commit  her  body  to  the  ground,  '  earth  to  earth, 
ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust.7  But  0,  what  a  glorious 
change  I  Her  spirit  shall  have  then  returned  to  God  who 
gave  it.  Her  soul  will  be  joining  the  hallelujahs  of  para- 
dise, while  we  sing  her  requiem  at  the  grave.  And  her 
very  dust  shall  here  wait,  '  in  sure  and  certain  hope  of  a 
joyful  resurrection  from  the  dead.7 " 

I  went  through  the  fields  without  meeting  a  single  in- 
dividual. I  enjoyed  the  retirement  of  my  solitary  walk ; 
various  surrounding  objects  contributed  to  excite  useful 
meditation  connected  with  the  great  subjects  of  time  and 
eternity.  I  was  now  arrived  at  the  stile  nearly  adjoining 
her  dwelling.  The  upper  window  was  open,  and  I  soon 
distinguished  the  sound  of  voices.  I  was  glad  to  hear  that 
of  the  mother.  I  entered  the  house  door  unperceived  by 
those  above  stairs,  and  sat  down  below,  not  wishing  as  yet 
to  interrupt  a  conversation  which  quickly  caught  my  ear. 

"  Mother,  mother,  I  have  not  long  to  live.  My  time 
will  be  very  short.  But  I  must,  indeed,  I  must  say  some- 
thing for  your  sake  before  I  die.  0  mother,  you  have  a 
soul — you  have  a  soul,  and  what  will  become  of  it  when 
you  die  ?    0  my  mother,  I  am  so  uneasy  about  your  soul." 

"  0  dear,  I  shall  lose  my  child  ;  she  will  die  ;  and  what 
shall  I  do  when  you  are  gone,  my  Jane  ?"  she  sobbed 
aloud. 

"  Mother,  think  about  your  soul.  Have  not  you  neg- 
lected that  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  a  wicked  sinner,  and  not  loved  that 
which  was  good.  •  What  can  I  do  ?" 

"  Mother,  you  must  pray  to  God  to  pardon  you  for 
Christ's  sake.     You  must  pray." 

"  Jane,  my  child,  I  cannot  pray ;  I  never  did  pray  in 
all  my  life.     I  am  too  wicked  to  pray." 


32  THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

"  Mother,  I  have  been  wanting  to  speak  to  you  a  long 
time  ;  but  I  was  afraid  to  do  it.  You  did  not  like  me  to  say 
any  thing  about  yourself,  and  I  did  not  know  how  to  begin. 
But  indeed,  mother,  I  must  speak  now,  or  it  may  be  too 

late.     I  wish  Mr. was  here,  for  he  could  talk  to  you 

better  than  I  can.  But  perhaps  you  will  think  of  what  I 
say,  poor  as  it  is,  when  I  am  dead.  I  am  but  a  young- 
child,  and  not  fit  to  speak  about  such  things  to  any  body. 
But,  mother,  you  belong  to  me,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  think 
of  your  perishing  for  ever.  My  Lord  and  Saviour  has  shown 
me  my  own  sins  and  corruptions  ;  he  loved  me,  and  gave 
himself  for  me ;  he  died,  and  he  rose  again ;  I  want  to 
praise  him  for  it  for  ever  and  ever.  I  hope  I  shall  see  him 
in  heaven  ;  but  I  want  to  see  you  there  too,  mother.  Do, 
pray  do,  both  father  and  you,  leave  off  swearing  and  all 
other  bad  ways  ;  go  to  church  and  hear  our  minister  speak 
about  Jesus  Christ,  and  what  he  has  done  for  wicked  sin- 
ners. He  wishes  well  to  souls.  He  taught  me  the  way, 
and  he  will  teach  you,  mother.  Do  not  be  angry  with  me, 
mother  ;  I  only  speak  for  your  good.  I  was  once  as  care- 
less as  you  are  about  the  things  of  God.  But  I  have  seen 
my  error.  I  was  in  the  broad  road  leading  to  destruction, 
like  many  other  children  in  the  parish,  and  the  Lord  saw 
me,  and  had  mercy  upon  me." 

"Yes,  my  child,  .you  was  always  a  good  girl,  and 
minded  your  book." 

"  No,  mother,  no  ;  not  always.  I  cared  nothing  about 
goodness,  nor  my  Bible,  till  the  minister  came  and  sent  for 
us,  as  you  know,  on  Saturday  afternoons.  Don't  you  re- 
member, mother,  that  at  first  you  did  not  like  me  to  go, 
and  said  you  would  have  no  such  godly,  pious  doings  about 
your  house  ;  and  that  I  had  better  play  about  the  streets 
and  fields,  than  to  be  laughed  at  and  made  game  of  for 
pretending  to  be  so  good  ?    Ah,  mother,  you  did  not  know 


THE  YOUNG-  COTTAGER.  33 

what  I  went  for,  and  what  God  designed  for  me  and  my 
poor  sinful  soul.  But,  thank  God,  I  did  go,,  and  there 
learned  the  way  of  salvation.  Mother,  I  wish  you  had 
learned  it  too." 

As  I  listened  to  this  affecting  conversation,  it  appeared 
to  me,  from  the  tone  and  manner  of  the  mother's  voice, 
that  she  was  more  under  the  influence  of  temporary  grief, 
on  account  of  her  child's  extreme  illness,  than  sincere  sor- 
row from  any  real  sense  of  her  sins.  I  however  hoped 
the  best,  and  rejoiced  to  hear  such  weighty  and  important 
exhortations  dropping  from  her  daughter's  lips.  I  felt  that 
present  circumstances  rendered  it  far  more  valuable  than 
my  own  could  have  been. 

I  have  often,  since  that  time,  seen  the  wicked  and  care- 
less much  affected  while  sitting  by  the  dying-bed  of  a  near 
relative.  I  have  witnessed  their  temporary  acknowledg- 
ments of  sin,  and  heard  their  professions  of  amendment. 
But,  after  a  short  season,  all  has  passed  away  like  the 
morning  dew.  The  friend  has  been  buried  out  of  sight. 
The  world  and  its  cares,  the  flesh  and  its  sins,  have  re- 
turned with  new  temptations,  and  the  eloquence  of  ini- 
quity has  prevailed  over  the  voice  of  truth. 

On  the  other  hand,  how  frequently  have  the  death- 
beds of  true  believers  been  blessed  to  the  eye-witnesses 
of  the  triumphs  of  grace  over  sin,  death,  and  hell.  Often 
has  the  careless  bystander  received  the  first  saving  im- 
pression of  divine  truth,  while  the  dying  Christian  has 
experienced  and  testified  the  supports  of  love  and  mercy 
in  the  trying  hour.  At  such  seasons,  faith  wields  a  bright 
and  burning  torch,  which  occasionally  softens  the  hardest, 
and  warms  the  coldest  heart.  The  expressions  of  that  heav- 
enly consolation  and  devout  solicitude  which  the  Holy  Spirit 
vouchsafes  to  some,  thus  become  the  happy  means  of  grace 
and  blessing  for  the  conversion  and  edification  of  others. 

Eleg.  Nar.  20 


34  THE  YOUNG-  COTTAGER. 

At  this  moment  the  house  door  opened,  and  a  younger 
child,  a  brother  of  Jane's,  came  in.  The  mother  asked 
from  above  who  it  was  ;  the  boy  replied ;  and  without 
further  inquiry  she  remained  in  the  chamber.  I  beckoned 
to  the  lad  to  sit  down  quietly,  and  thus  it  still  remained 
unknown  that  I  was  below. 

"Mother/7  continued  Jane,  "that  is  my  brother,  and 
will  soon  be  your  only  remaining  child.  Do,  pray,  encour- 
age him  to  follow  good  ways ;   send  him  to  Mr.  , 

and  he  will  be  kind  to  him,  as  he  has  been  to  me.  He  is 
a  wild  boy,  but  I  hope  he  will  be  brought  to  think  about 
his  soul  in  time.  Those  naughty  wicked  boys  teach  him 
to  swear  and  fight,  and  run  after  all  manner  of  evil.  Lord, 
help  him  to  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come.77 

I  made  a  sign  to  the  boy  to  listen  to  what  his  sister 
said  concerning  him.  He  seemed  to  hear  with  attention, 
and  a  tear  dropped  down  his  cheek. 

"Aye,  Jane,  it  is  hoped  he  will,  and  that  we  all  shall 
likewise.77 

"  Mother,  then  you  must  flee  to  Christ.  Nothing  you 
can  do  will  save  you  without  that.  You  must  repent  and 
turn  from  sin — without  the  grace  of  God  you  will  never 
do  it ;  but  seek,  and  you  shall  find  it.  Do,  for  your  own 
sake,  and  for  my  sake,  and  my  little  brothers  sake.77 

The  woman  wept  and  sobbed  without  replying.  I  now 
thought  it  time  to  appear,  went  to  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs,  and  said,  "  May  a  friend  come  up  ?77 

"Mercy  on  me/7  said  the  mother,  "there  is  Mr. ,77 

"  Come  in,  sir/7  said  Jane  ;  "  I  am  very  glad  you  are 
come  now.     Mother,  set  a  chair.77 

The  woman  looked  rather  confused  ;  Jane  smiled  as  I 
entered,  and  welcomed  me  as  usual. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  be  forgiven  both  by  mother  and  daugh- 
ter, for  having  remained  so  long  below  stairs,  during  the 


THE  YOUNG  COTTAG-ER.  35 

conversation  which  has  just  taken  place.  I  came  in  the 
hope  of  finding  you  together,  as  I  have  had  a  wish  for.  some 
time  past  to  speak,  to  you,  Sarah,  on  the  same  subjects 
about  which  I  am  happy  to  say  your  daughter  is  so  anxious. 
You  have  long  neglected  these  things,  and  I  wished  to 
warn  you  of  the  danger  of  your  state  ;  but  Jane  has  said 
all  I  could  desire,  and  I  now  solemnly  ask  you  whether 
you  are  not  much  affected  by  your  poor  child's  faithful 
conversation.  You  ought  to  have  been  her  teacher  and 
instructor  in  the  ways  of  righteousness,  whereas  now  she 
is  become  yours.  Happy,  however,  will  it  be  for  you,  if 
you  are  wise  and  consider  your  latter  end,  and  the  things 
which  belong  to  your  peace,  before  they  are  hidden  from 
your  eyes.  Look  at  your  dying  child,  and  think  of  your 
other  and  only  remaining  one,  and  say  whether  this  sight 
does  not  call  aloud  upon  you  to  hear  and  fear." 

Jane's  eyes  were  filled  with  tears  while  I  spoke.  The 
woman  hung  her  head  down,  but  betrayed  some  emotions 
of  dislike  at  the  plain  dealing  used  towards  her. 

"  My  child,  Jane,"  said  I,  "how  are  you  to-day?" 

"  Sir,  I  have  been  talking  a  good  deal,  and  feel  rather 
faint  and  weary,  but  my  mind  has  been  very  easy  and 
happy  since  I  last  saw  you.  I  am  quite  willing  to  die 
when  the  Lord  sees  fit.  I  have  no  wish  to  live,  except  it 
be  to  see  my  friends  in  a  better  way  before  I  depart.  Sir, 
I  used  to  be  afraid  to  speak  to  them  ;  but  I  feel  to-day  as 
if  I  could  hold  my  peace  no  longer,  and  I  must  tell  them 
what  the  Lord  has  done  for  my  soul,  and  what  I  feel  for 
theirs." 

There  was  a.  firmness,  I  may  say  dignity,  with  which 
this  was  uttered,  that  surprised  me.  The  character  of  the 
child  seemed  to  be  lost  in  that  of  the  Christian :  her  nat- 
ural timidity  yielded  to  a  holy  assurance  of  manner,  result- 
ing from  her  own  inward  consolations,  mingled  with  spir- 


36  THE   YOUNG-  COTTAGER 

itual  desire  for  her  mother's  welfare.  This  produced  a 
flush  upon  her  otherwise  pallid  countenance,  which  in  no 
small  degree  added  to  her  interesting  appearance.  The 
Bible  lay  open  before  her  as  she  sat  up  in  the  bed.  With 
her  right  hand  she  inclosed  her  mother's. 

"  Mother,  this  book  you  cannot  read ;  you  should  there- 
fore go  constantly  to  church,  that  you  may  hear  it  ex- 
plained. It  is  God's  book,  and  tells  us  the  way  to  heaven  ; 
I  hope  you  will  learn  and  mind  it ;  with  God's  blessing  it 
may  save  your  soul.  Do  think  of  that,  mother,  pray  do. 
I  am  soon  going  to  die.  Give  this  Bible  to  my  brother ; 
and  will  you  be  so  kind,  sir,  as  to  instruct  him  ?  Mother, 
remember  what  I  say,  and  this  gentleman  is  witness : 
there  is  no  salvation  for  sinners  like  you  and  me,  but  in 
the  blood  of  Christ ;  he  is  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost ; 
he  will  save  all  that  come  to  him ;  he  waits  to  be  gra- 
cious ;  cast  yourself  upon  his  mercy.  I  wish — I  wish — 
I— I " 

She  was  quite  overcome,  and  sunk  away  in  a  kind  of 
fainting  fit. 

Her  mother  observed  that  she  would  now  probably 
remain  insensible  for  some  time  before  she  recovered. 

I  improved  this  interval  in  a  serious  address  to  the 
woman,  and  then  prepared  to  take  my  departure,  perceiv- 
ing that  Jane  was  too  much  exhausted  for  farther  conver- 
sation at  that  time. 

As  I  was  leaving  the  room  the  child  said  faintly, 
*  Come  again  soon,  sir ;  my  time  is  very  short." 

I  returned  home  by  the  same  retired  road  which  I  had 
before  chosen.  I  silently  meditated  on  the  eminent  proofs 
of  piety  and  faith  which  were  just  afforded  me  in  the  scene 
I  had  witnessed.  Surely,  I  thought,  this  is  an  extraordi- 
nary child.  What  cannot  grace  accomplish  ?  Is  it  pos- 
sible to  doubt,  after  this,  who  is  alone  the  Author  and 


THE  YOUNG-  COTTAG-ER.  37 

Finisher  of  salvation  ;  or  from  whom  cometh  every  good 
and  perfect  gift  ?  How  rich  and  free  is  the  mercy  of  Je- 
hovah !  Hath  not  he  "  chosen  the  weak  things  of  the 
world  to  confound  the  things  which  are  mighty  ?"  Let  no 
flesh  glory  in  his  presence ;  but  he  that  glorieth,  let  him 
glory  in  the  Lord. 

At  a  very  early  hour  on  the  morning  of  the  following 
day,  I  was  awoke  by  the  arrival  of  a  messenger,  bringing 
an  earnest  request  that  I  would  immediately  go  to  the 
child,  as  her  end  appeared  to  be  just  approaching.  It  was 
not  yet  day  when  I  left  my  house  to  obey  the  summons. 
The  morning  star  shone  conspicuously  clear.  The  moon 
cast  a  mild  light  over  the  prospect,  but  gradually  dimin- 
ished in  brightness  as  the  eastern  sky  became  enlight- 
ened. The  birds  were  beginning  their  song,  and  seemed 
ready  to  welcome  the  sun's  approach.  My  mind,  as  I  pro- 
ceeded, was  deeply  exercised  by  thoughts  concerning  the 
affecting  events  which  I  expected  soon  to  witness.  The 
rays  of  the  morning  star  were  not  so  beautiful  in  my  sight 
as  the  spiritual  lustre  of  this  young  Christian's  character. 
Her  night  was  far  spent ;  the  morning  of  a  better  day  was 
at  hand.  When  I  arrived  at  the  house  I  found  no  one 
below  ;  I  paused  a  few  minutes,  and  heard  the  girl's  voice 
very  faintly  saying,  "  Do  you  think  he  will  come  ?  I 
should  be  so  glad — so  glad  to  see  him  before  I  die." . 

I  ascended  the  stairs — her  father,  mother,  and  brother, 
together  with  the  elderly  woman  before  spoken  of,  were 
in  the  chamber.  Jane's  countenance  bore  the  marks  of 
speedy  dissolution.  Yet  although  death  was  manifest  in 
the  languid  features,  there  was  something  more  than  ever 
interesting  in  the  whole  of  her  external  aspect.  The  mo- 
ment she  saw  me,  a  renewed  vigor  beamed  in  her  eyes — 

grateful  affection  sparkled  in  the  dying  face. 

20* 


38  THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

Although  she  had  spoken  just  before  I  entered,  yet 
for  some  time  afterwards  she  was  silent,  but  never  took 
her  eyes  off  me.  There  was  animation  in  her  look — there 
was  more — something  like  a  foretaste  of  heaven  seemed 
to  be  felt,  and  gave  an  inexpressible  character  of  spiritual 
beauty  even  in  death. 

At  length  she  said,  "This  is  very  kind,  sir — I  am  go- 
ing fast — I  was  afraid  I  should  never  see  you  again  in 
this  world." 

I  said,  "My  child,  are  you  resigned  to  die?'7 

"Quite." 

"Where  is  your  hope?" 

She  lifted  up  her  finger,  pointing  to  heaven,  and  then 
directed  the  same  downward  to  her  own  heart,  saying  suc- 
cessively as  she  did  so,  "Christ  there,  and  Christ  here.77 

These  words,  accompanied  by  the  action,  spoke  her 
meaning  more  solemnly  than  can  easily,  be  conceived. 

A  momentary  spasm  took  place.  Looking  towards 
her  weeping  mother,  she  said,  "  I  am  very  cold  ;  but  it  is 
no  matter,  it  will  soon  be  over." 

She  closed  her  eyes  for  about  a  minute,  and  on  open- 
ing them  again  she  said,  "I  wish,  sir,  when  I  am  gone  you 
would  tell  the  other  children  of  the  parish  how  good  the 
Lord  has  been  to  me,  a  poor  sinner :  tell  them,  that  they 
who  seek  him  early  will  find  him — tell  them,  that  the  ways 
of  sin  and  ignorance  are  the  way  to  ruin  and  hell — and 
pray  tell  them,  sir,  from  me,  that  Christ  is  indeed  the  way, 
the  truth,  and  the  life — he  will  in  no  wise  cast  out  any 
that  come.     Tell  them  that  I,  a  poor  girl " 

She  was  quite  exhausted,  and  sunk  for  a  while  into  a 
torpid  state,  from  which,  however,  she  recovered  gradual- 
ly, uttering  these  expressions  :  "Where  am  I? — I  thought 
I  was  going — Lord,  save  me." 

"My  dear  child,  you  will  soon  be  for  ever  in  his  arms, 


THE  YOUNG-  COTTAG-ER.  39 

who  is  now  guiding  you  by  his  rod  and  staff  through  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death." 

"  I  believe  so,  indeed  I  do,"  said  she  ;  "  I  long  to  be  with 
him.  0,  how  good,  how  great,  how  merciful !  Jesus,  save 
me,  help  me  through  this  last  trial." 

She  then  gave  one  hand  to  her  father,  the  other  to  her 
mother,  and  said,  "God  bless  you,  God  bless  you — seek 
the  Lord — think  of  me  when  I  am  gone — it  may  be  for 
your  good — remember  your  souls — 0,  for  Christ's  sake, 
remember  your  souls — then  all  may  be  well — you  cannot 
know  what  I  have  felt  for  both  of  you — Lord,  pardon  and 
save  my  dear  father  and  mother !" 

She  then  took  hold  of  her  brother's  hand,  saying, 
"Thomas,  I  beg  of  you  to  leave  off  your  bad  ways — read 
the  Bible — I  give  you  mine — I  have  found  it  a  precious 
book.  Do  you  not  remember  our  little  brother,  who  died 
some  years  since  ? — he  was  praying  to  the  last  moment 
of  his  life.  Learn  to  pray  while  you  are  in  health,  and 
you  will  find  the  comfort  and  power  of  it  when  you  come 
to  die  j  but  first  of  all,  pray  for  a  new  heart — without  it 
you  never  will  see  God  in  heaven — your  present  way 
leads  to  misery  and  ruin — may  the  Lord  turn  your  heart 
to  love  and  follow  him." 

To  the  other  woman  she  said,  "I  thank  you,  dame 

K ,  for  all  your  kindness  since  I  have  been  ill — you 

have  been  a  Christian  friend  to  me,  and  I  hope  the  Lord 
will  remember  you  for  it,  according  to  his  rich  mercy.  You 
and  I  have  many  a  time  talked  together  about  death ;  and 
though  I  am  the  youngest,  he  calls  me  first  to  pass  through 
it ;  but  blessed.be  his  name,  I  am  not  terrified.  I  once 
thought  I  never  could  die  without  fear ;  but  indeed  I  feel 
quite  happy  now  it  is  come  ;  and  so  will  you,  if  you  trust 
him — he  is  the  God  both  of  the  old  and  the  young." 

"Ah,  my  child,"  said  the  woman,  "I  wish  I  was  as 


40  THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

fit  to  die  as  you  are  ;  but  I  fear  that  will  never  be — my 
sins  have  been  many,  very  many." 

"  Christ's  blood  cleanseth  from  all  sin,"  said  the  child. 

At  this  moment,  instead  of  growing  weaker  through 
the  fatigue  of  so  much  speaking,  she  seemed  to  gather 
fresh  strength.  She  turned  to  me  with  a  look  of  surpris- 
ing earnestness  and  animation,  saying, 

"You,  sir,  have  been  my  best  friend  on  earth — you 
have  taught  me  the  way  to  heaven,  and  I  love  and  thank 
you  for  it — you  have  borne  with  my  weakness  and  my 
ignorance — you  have  spoken  to  me  of  the  love  of  Christ, 
and  he  has  made  me  feel  it  in  my  heart — I  shall  see  him 
face  to  face — he  will  never  leave  me  nor  forsake  me — he  is 
the  same,  and  changes  not.     Dear  sir,  God  bless  you." 

The  child  suddenly  rose  up,  and  with  an  unexpected 
exertion,  threw  her  livid,  wasted  arms  around  me,  as  I 
sat  on  the  bedside,  laid  her  head  on  my  shoulder,  and  said 
distinctly,  "  God  bless  and  reward  you — give  thanks  for 
me  to  him — my  soul  is  saved — Christ  is  every  thing  to  me. 
Sir,  we  shall  meet  in  heaven  ;  shall  we  not  ? — 0  yes,  yes — 
then  all  will  be  peace — peace — peace " 

She  sunk  back  on  the  bed,  and  spoke  no  more — fetch- 
ed a  deep  sigh — smiled,  and  died. 

At  this  affecting  moment  the  first  rays  of  the  morning 
sun  darted  into  the  room,  and  seemed  to  describe  the 
glorious  change  which  her  soul  had  now  experienced. 

For  some  time  I  remained  silently  gazing  on  the 
breathless  corpse,  and  could  hardly  persuade  myself  that 
Jane  was  indeed  no  longer  there. 

As  I  returned  homeward,  I  found  it  difficult  to  repress 
the  strong  feelings  of  affection  which  such  a  scene  had  ex- 
cited. Neither  did  I  wish  it.  Religion,  reason,  and  experi- 
ence rather  bid  us  indulge,  in  due  place  and  season,  those 
tender  emotions  which  keep  the  heart  alive  to  its  most 


THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER.  41 

valuable  sensibilities.  Jesus  himself  wept  over  the  foreseen 
sorrows  of  Jerusalem.  He  wept  also  at  the  grave  of  his 
friend  Lazarus.  Such  an  example  consecrates  the  tear  of 
affection,  while  it  teaches  us,  concerning  them  which  are 
asleep,  not  to  "  sorrow  as  those  that  have  no  hope." 

I  soon  fell  into  meditation  on  the  mysterious  subject 
of  the  flight  of  a  soul  from  this  world  to  that  of  departed 
spirits.  "  Swifter  than  the  rays  of  light  from  the  sun  has 
this  child's  spirit  hastened,  in  obedience  to  its  summons 
from  God,  to  appear  in  his  immediate  presence.  How 
solemn  a  truth  is  this  !  But,  washed  in  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb  that  was  slain,  and  happily  made  partaker  of  its 
purifying  efficacy,  she  meets  her  welcome  at  the  throne  of 
God.  Sin,  death,  and  hell  are  vanquished,  through  the 
power  of  Him  who  hath  made  her  more  than  conqueror. 
He  will  himself  present  her  to  his  Father  as  one  of  the 
purchased  lambs  of  his  flock— as  one  whom  the  Spirit  of 
God  'has  sealed  unto  the  day  of  redemption.' 

"  What  a  change  for  her  !  from  that  poor,  tattered 
chamber,  to  the  regions  of  paradise  !  from  a  bed  of  straw 
to  the  bosom  of  Abraham  !  from  poverty,  sickness,  and 
pain,  to  eternal  riches,  health,  and  joy  !  from  the  condition 
of  a  decayed,  weary  pilgrim  in  this  valley  of  tears,  to  that 
of  a  happy  traveller  safely  arrived  at  home,  in  the  rest 
that  remaineth  to  the  people  of  God ! 

"  I  have  lost  a  young  disciple,  endeared  to  me  by  a 
truly  parental  tie.  Yet  how  can  I  complain  of  that  as  lost, 
which  God  has  found  ?  Her  willing  and  welcome  voice 
no  longer  seeks  or  imparts  instruction  here.  But  it  is  far 
better  employed.  The  angels  who  rejoiced  over  her  when 
her  soul  first  turned  to  God,  who  watched  the  progress  of 
her  short  pilgrimage,  and  who  have  now  carried  her  tri- 
umphantly to  the  heavenly  hills,  have  already  taught  her 
to  join 


42  THE  YOUNG-  COTTAGER. 

1  In  holy  song,  their  own  immortal  strains. ' 
Why  then  should  I  mourn  ?     The  whole  prospect,  as  it 
concerns  her,  is  filled  with  joy  and  immortality :  l  Death 
is  swallowed  up  in  victory/  " 

On  the  fourth  day  from  thence,  Jane  was  buried.  I 
had  never  before  committed  a  parishioner  to  the  ground 
with  similar  affections.  The  attendants  were  not  many, 
but  I  was  glad  to  perceive  among  them  some  of  the  chil- 
dren who  had  been  accustomed  to  receive  my  weekly  pri- 
vate instruction  along  with  her.  I  wished  that  the  scene 
might  usefully  impress  their  young  hearts,  and  that  God 
would  bless  it  to  their  edification.  As  I  stood  at  the  head 
of  the  grave  during  the  service,  I  connected  past  events, 
which  had  occurred  in  the  churchyard,  with  the  present. 
In  this  spot  Jane  first  learned  the  value  of  that  gospel 
which  saved  her  soul.  Not  many  yards  from  her  own 
burial-place  was  the  epitaph  which  has  already  been  de- 
scribed as  the  first  means  of  affecting  her  mind  with  seri- 
ous and  solemn  conviction.  It  seemed  to  stand,  at  this 
moment,  as  a  peculiar  witness  for  those  truths  which  its 
lines  proclaimed  to  every  passing  reader.  Such  an  associa- 
tion of  objects  produced  a  powerful  effect  on  my  thoughts. 

The  evening  was  serene — nothing  occurred  to  inter- 
rupt the  quiet  solemnity  of  the  occasion.  "Peace"  was 
the  last  word  little  Jane  uttered,  while  living ;  and  peace 
seemed  to  be  inscribed  on  the  farewell  scene  at  the  grave, 
where  she  was  laid.  A  grateful  remembrance  of  that 
peace  revives  in  my  own  mind,  as  I  write  these  memorials 
of  it ;  and  Oh,  may  that  peace  which  passeth  all  under- 
standing be  in  its  most  perfect  exercise  when  I  shall  .meet 
her  again  at  the  last  day. 

Attachment  to  the  spot  where  this  young  Christian  lay, 
induced  me  to  plant  a  yew-tree  close  by  the  head  of  her 
grave,  adjoining  the  eastern  wall  of  the  church.    I  designed 


THE   YOUNG  COTTAGER.  43 

it  .as  an  evergreen  monument  of  one  who  was  dear  to  mem- 
ory. The  young  plant  appeared  healthy  for  a  while,  and 
promised  by  its  outward  vigor  long  to  retain  its  station. 
But  it  withered  soon  afterwards,  and  like  the  child  whose 
grave  it  pointed  out  to  notice,  early  faded  away  and  died. 
The  yew-tree  proved  a  frail  and  short-lived  monument. 
But  a  more  lasting  one  dwells  in  my  own  heart.  And 
possibly  this  narrative  may  be  permitted  to  transmit  her 
memory  to  other  generations  when  the  hand  and  heart 
of  the  writer  shall  be  cold  in  the  dust. 

Perchance  some,  into  whose  hands  these  pages  may 
fall,  will  be  led  to  cultivate  their  spiritual  young  plants 
with  increased  hope  of  success  in  so  arduous  an  endeavor. 
May  the  tender  -blossoms  reward  their  care,  -and  bring 
forth  early  and  acceptable  fruit. 

Some  who  have  perhaps  been  accustomed  to  under- 
value the  character  of  very  youthful  religion,  may  hereby 
see  that  the  Lord  of  grace  and  glory  is  not  limited  in  the 
exercise  of  his  power  by  age  or  circumstance.  It  some- 
times appears  in  the  displays  of  God's  love  to  sinners,  as 
it  does  in  the  manifestation  of  his  works  in  the  heavens, 
that  the  least  of  the  planets  moves  in  the  nearest  course 
to  the  sun,  and  there  enjoys  the  most  powerful  influence 
of  his  light,  heat,  and  attraction. 

The  story  of  this  young  Cottager  involves  a  clear  evi- 
dence of  the  freeness  of  the  operations  of  divine  grace  on 
the  heart  of  man  ;  of  the  inseparable  connection  between 
true  faith,  and  holiness  of  disposition ;  and  of  the  sim- 
plicity of  character  which  a  real  love  of  Christ  transfuses 
into  the  soul. 

How  many  of  the  household  of  faith,  in  every  age, 
"  Alike 'unknown  to  fortune  and  to  fame,'7 
have  journeyed  and  are  now  travelling  to  their  "  city  of 
habitation"  through  the  paths  of  modest  obscurity,  and 


44  THE  YOUNG  COTTAGER. 

almost  unheeded  piety.  It  is  one  of  the  most  interesting 
employments  of  the  Christian  minister  to  search  out  these 
lilies  of  the  valley,  whose  beauty  and  fragrance  are  nearly 
concealed  in  their  shady  retreats.  To  rear  the  flower,  to 
assist  in  unfolding  its  excellences,  and  bring  forth  its  fruit 
in  due  season,  is  a  work  that  delightfully  recompenses  the 
toil  of  the  cultivator. 

While  he  is  occupied  in  this  grateful  task  of  laboring 
in  his  heavenly  Master's  garden,  some  blight,  some  tem- 
pest may  chance  to  take  away  a  favorite  young  blossom, 
in  a  premature  stage  of  its  growth. 

If  such  a  case  should  befall  him,  he  will  then,  perhaps, 
as  I  have  often  done  when  standing  in  pensive  recollec- 
tion at  little  Jane's  grave,  make  an  application  of  these 
lines,  which  are  inscribed  on  a  gravestone  erected  in  the 
same  churchyard,  and  say, 

"  This  lovely  bud,  so  young  and  fair, 
Called  hence  by  early  doom, 
Just  came  to  show  how  sweet  a  flower 
In  Paradise  would  bloom." 


NARRATIVE  X. 

ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM. 

BY   REV.   JOHN   NEWTON, 

RECTOR  OF  ST.  MARY  WOOLNOTH,  ENGLAND 


When  the  following  narrative  was  drawn  up,  the  writer 
was  aware  that  his  feelings  rendered  him  incompetent  to 
judge  how  much  of  a  relation,  every  part  of  which  was  in- 
teresting to  himself,  might  he  fit  to  offer  to  the  public.  He 
therefore  wrote  only  for  his  friends,  and  printed  no  more 
copies  than  would  he  sufficient  to  distribute  within  the  circle 
of  his  personal  acquaintance.  But  as  the  paper  has  been 
much  inquired  after,  and  many  of  his  friends  have  express- 
ed a  wish  that  it  might  be  more  extensively  circulated,  he 

has  at  length  yielded  to  their  judgment. 

21 


Eleg.  Nar. 


2  NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM. 

It  is  to  be  lamented,  that  in  this  enlightened  age,  relig- 
ion should,  by  many,  be  thought  the  only  subject  unworthy 
of  a  serious  inquiry.  And  that  while,  in  every  branch  of 
science,  tney  are  cautious  of  admitting  any  theory  which 
cannot  stand  the  test  of  experiment,  they  treat  the  use  of  the 
term  Experimental,  when  applied  to  religion,  with  contempt. 
Yet  there  are  many  things  connected  with  this  subject,  in 
which,  whether  we  are  willing  or  unwilling,  we  are  and 
must  be  nearly  interested.  Death,  for  instance,  is  inevita- 
ble ;  and  the  consequences  of  death  must  be  important. 
Many  persons  die,  as  they  live,  thoughtless  of  what  conse- 
quences may  await  them.  Others  leave  the  world  with 
reluctance  and  terror.  And  there  are  others  who,  though 
conscious  that  they  are  sinners,  and  sure  that  they  are  about 
to  enter  on  an  unchangeable  and  endless  state  of  existence, 
possess  peace,  composure,  and  joy.  These  declare,  that 
they  owe  this  happy  state  of  mind  to  their  dependence  on 
Jesus  the  Saviour,  on  whose  death  and  mediation  they  have 
built  their  hopes.  And  who  can  disprove  their  words? 
Such  an  instance  is  now  in  the  reader's  hands.  The  fact 
is  indubitable.  A  child,  under  the  age  of  fifteen,  did  thus 
rejoice  in  the  midst  of  pains  and  agonies,  to  the  admiration 
of  all  who  beheld  her.  She  was  willing  to  leave  all  her 
friends  whom  she  dearly  loved,  and  by  whom  she  was  ten- 
derly beloved ;  for  she  knew  whom  she  believed,  and  that 
when  she  should  be  absent  from  the  body,  she  should  be 
present  with  the  Lord.  With  this  assurance,  she  triumphed 
in  the  prospect  of  glory,  and  smiled  upon  the  approach  of 
death. 


NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM.  3 

NARRATIVE,   ETC, 

As  I  write,  not  for  the  eye  of  the  public,  but  chiefly  to 
put  a  testimony  of  the  Lord's  goodness  into  the  hands  of  my 
dear  friends,  who  have  kindly  afforded  us  their  sympathy 
and  prayers  on  the  late  occasion,  I  do  not  mean  either  to 
restrain  the  emotions  of  my  heart,  or  to  apologize  for  them? 
I  shall  write  simply  and  freely,  as  I  might  speak  to  a  person 
to  whose  intimacy  and  tenderness  I  might  fully  entrust  my- 
self, and  who,  I  know,  will  bear  with  all  my  weaknesses. 

In  May,  1782,  my  sister  Cunningham  was  at  Edinburgh, 
chiefly  on  the  account  of  her  eldest  daughter,  then  in  the 
14th  year  of  her  age,  who  was  very  ill  of  a  consumption. 
She  had  already  buried  an  only  son,  at  the  age  of  twelve ; 
and  while  all  a  mother's  care  and  feelings  were  engaged 
by  the  rapid  decline  of  a  second  amiable  child,  she  was  un- 
expectedly bereaved  of  an  affectionate  and  excellent  hus- 
band. Her  trials  were  great ;  but  the  Lord  had  prepared 
her  for  them.  She  was  a  believer.  Her  faith  was  strong, 
her  graces  active,  her  conduct  exemplary.  She  walked 
with  God,  and  he  supported  her.  And  though  she  was  a 
tender  and  sympathizing  friend,  she  had  a  happy  firmness 
of  temper ;  so  that  her  character,  as  a  Christian,  and  the 
propriety  of  her  behavior  in  every  branch  of  relative  life, 
appeared  with  peculiar  advantage  in  the  season  of  affliction. 
She  returned  to  Anstruther  a  widow,  with  her  sick  child, 
who  languished  till  October,  and  then  died. 

Though  my  sister  had  many  valuable  and  pleasing  con- 
nections in  Scotland,  yet  her  strongest  tie  being  broken,  she 
readily  accepted  my  invitation  to  come  and  live  with  us. 
She  was  not  only  dear  to  me  as  Mrs.  Newton's  sister,  but 
we  had  lived  long  in  the  habits  of  intimate  friendship.  I 
knew  her  worth,  and  she  was  partial  to  me.     She  had  yet 


4  NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM 

one  child  remaining,  her  dear  Eliza.  We  already  had  a 
dear  orphan  niece,  whom  we  had,  about  seven  years  before, 
adopted  for  our  own  daughter.  My  active,  fond  imagina- 
tion anticipated  the  time  of  her  arrival,  and  drew  a  pleasing 
picture  of  the  addition  the  company  of  such  a  sister,  such  a 
friend,  would  make  to  the  happiness  of  our  family.  The 
children  likewise — there  was  no  great  disparity  between 
them,  either  in  years  or  stature.  From  what  1  had  heard 
of  Eliza,  1  was  prepared  to  love  her  before  I  saw  her  ; 
though  she  came  afterwards  into  my  hands  like  a  heap  of 
untold  gold,  which,  when  counted  over,  proves  to  be  a  larger 
sum  than  was  expected.  My  fancy  paired  and  united  these 
children;  I  hoped  that  the  friendship  between  us  and  my 
sister  would  be  perpetuated  in  them.  I  seemed  to  see  them, 
like  twin  sisters,  of  one  heart  and  mind,  habited  nearly 
alike,  always  together,  always  with  us. 

Such  was  my  plan ;  but  the  Lord's  plan  was  very  dif- 
ferent, and  therefore  mine  failed.  It  is  happy  for  us,  poor 
short-sighted  mortals,  unable  as  we  are  to  foresee  the  con- 
sequences of  our  own  wishes,  that  if  we  know  and  trust 
him,  he  often  is  pleased  to  put  a  merciful  negative  upon  our 
purposes,  and  condescends  to  choose  better  for  us  than  we 
can  for  ourselves.  What  might  have  been  the  issue  of  my 
plan,  had  it  taken  place,  I  know  not;  but  I  can  now  praise 
and  adore  him  for  the  gracious  issue  of  his.  I  praise  his 
name,  that  I  can  cheerfully  comply  with  his  word,  which 
says,  "  Be  still,  and  know  that  I  am  God."  I  not  only  can 
bow,  as  it  becomes  a  creature  and  a  sinner  to  do,  to  his  sov- 
ereignty, but  I  admire  his  wisdom  and  goodness,  and  can 
say  from  my  heart,  "  he  has  done  all  things  well."     * 

My  sister  had  settled  her  affairs  previous  to  her  re- 
moval ;  and  nothing  remained  but  to  take  leave  of  her 
friends,  of  whom  she  had  many,  not  only  in  Anstrutlier,  but 


NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM.  5 

in  different  parts  of  the  country.  In  February,  1783,  I 
received  a  letter  from  her,  which,  before  I  opened  it,  I  ex- 
pected was  to  inform  me  that  she  was  upon  the  road  in  her 
way  to  London.  But  the  information  was,  that,  in  a  little 
journey  she  had  made  to  bid  a  friend  farewell,  she  hid 
caught  a  violent  cold,  which  brought  on  a  fever  and  a 
cough,  with  other  symptoms,  which,  although  she  described 
as  gently  as  possible,  that  we  might  not  be  alarmed,  obliged 
me  to  give  up  instantly  the  hope  of  seeing  her.  Succeeding 
letters  confirmed  my  suspicions  ;  her  malady  increased,  and 
she  was  soon  confined  to  her  bed. 

Eliza  was  at  school  at  Musselburgh.  Till  then  she  had 
enjoyed  a  perfect  state  of  health ;  but  while  her  dear  mo- 
ther was  rapidly  declining,  she  likewise  caught  a  great 
cold,  and  her  life  likewise  was  soon  thought  to  be  in  danger. 
On  this  occasion,  that  fortitude  and  resolution  which  strongly 
marked  my  sister's  character,  was  remarkably  displayed. 
She  knew  that  her  own  race  was  almost  finished  ;  she  ear- 
nestly desired  that  Eliza  might  live  or  die  with  us ;  and  the 
physicians  advised  a  speedy  removal  into  the  south.  Ac- 
cordingly, to  save  time,  and  to  save  Eliza  from  the  impres- 
sion which  the  sight  of  a  dying  mother  might  probably  make 
upon  her  spirits,  and  possibly  apprehensive  that  the  inter- 
view might  make  too  great  an  impression  upon  her  own, 
she  sent  this,  her  only,  beloved  child,  directly  to  London, 
without  letting  her  come  home  to  take  a  last  leave  of  her. 
She  contented  herself  with  committing  and  bequeathing  her 
child  to  our  care  and  love,  in  a  letter,  which,  I  believe,  was 
the  last  she  was  able  to  write. 

Thus  powerfully  recommended  by  the  pathetic  charge 

of  a  dying  mother,  the  dearest  friend  we  had  upon  earth, 

and  by  that  plea  for  compassion  which  her  illness  might  have 

strongly  urged  even  upon  strangers,  we  received  our  dear 

Vol.  in.  21 # 


Q  NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM. 

Eliza,  as  a  trust,  and  as  a  treasure,  on  the  15th  of  March. 
My  sister  lived  long  enough  to  have  the  comfort  of  know- 
ing, not  only  that  she  was  safely  arrived,  but  was  perfectly 
pleased  with  her  new  situation.  She  was  now  freed  from 
all  earthly  cares.  She  suffered  much  in  the  remaining  part 
of  her  illness,  but  she  knew  whom  she  believed  ;  she  pos- 
sessed a  peace  past  understanding,  and  a  hope  full  of  glory. 
She  entered  into  the  joy  of  her  Lord  on  the  10th  of  May, 
1783,  respected  and  regretted  by  all  who  knew  her. 

I  soon  perceived  that  the  Lord  had  sent  me  a  treasure 
indeed.  Eliza's  person  was  agreeable.  There  was  an  ease 
and  elegance  in  her  whole  address,  and  a  gracefulness  in 
'her  movements,  till  long  illness  and  great  weakness  bowed 
her  down.  Her  disposition  was  lively,  her  genius  quick 
and  inventive;  and  if  she  had  enjoyed  health,  she  probably 
would  have  excelled  in  every  thing  that  required  ingenuity. 
Her  understanding,  particularly  her  judgment  and  her  sense 
of  propriety,  were  far  above  her  years.  There  was  some- 
thing in  her  appearance  that  usually  procured  her  favor  at 
the  first  sight.  She  was  honored. by  the  notice  of  several 
persons  of  distinction,  which,  though  I  thankfully  attribute 
in  part  to  their  kindness  to  me,  I  believe  was  a  good  deal 
owing  to  something  rather  uncommon  in  her. 

But  her  principal  endearing  qualities,  which  could  be 
only  fully  known  to  us  who  lived  with  her,  were  the -sweety 
ness  of  her  temper,  and  a  heart  formed  for  the  exercise  of 
affection,  gratitude,  and  friendship.  Whether,  when  at 
school,  she  might  have  heard  sorrowful  tales  from  children, 
who,  having  lost  their  parents,  met  with  a  great  difference 
in  point  of  tenderness  when  they  came  under  the  direc- 
tion of  uncles  and  aunts,  and  might  think  that  all  uncles 
and  aunts  were  alike,  I  know  not ;  but  I  have  understood 
since   from  herself,  that  she  did  not  come  to  us  with  any 


NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM.  7 

highly-raised  expectations  of  the  treatment  she  was  to  meet 
with. 

But  as  she  found,  (the  Lord  in  mercy  having  opened  our 
hearts  to  receive  her,)  that  it  was  hardly  possible  for  her 
own  parents  to  have  treated  her  more  tenderly,  and  that  it 
was  from  that  time  the  business  and  the  pleasure  of  our  lives 
to  study  how  to  oblige  her,  and  how  to  alleviate  the  afflic- 
tions which  we  were  unable  to  remove ;  so  we  likewise 
found,  that  the  seeds  of  our  kindness  could  hardly  be  sown 
in  a  more  promising  and  fruitful  soil.  I  know  not  that 
either  her  aunt  or  I  ever  saw  a  cloud  upon  her  countenance 
during  the  time  she  was  with  us.  It  is  true,  we  did  not,  we 
could  not,  unnecessarily  cross  her ;  but  if  we  thought  it 
expedient  to  overrule  any  proposal  she  made,  she  acquiesced 
with  a  sweet  smile ;  and  we  were  certain  we  should  never 
hear  of  that  proposal  again.  Her  delicacy,  however,  was 
quicker  than  our  observation ;  and  she  would  sometimes 
say,  when  we  could  not  perceive  the  least  reason  for  it,  "  I 
am  afraid  I  answer  you  peevishly ;  indeed  I  did  not  intend 
it ;  if  I  did,  I  ask  your  pardon  ;  I  should  be  very  ungrateful 
if  I  thought  any  pleasure  equal  to  that  of  endeavoring  to 
please  you."  It  is  no  wonder  that  we  dearly  loved  such  a 
child. 

The  hectic  fever,  cough,  and  sweats,  which  she  brought 
with  her  from  Scotland,  were  subdued  in  the  course  of  the 
summer,  and  there  appeared  no  reason  to  apprehend  that 
she  would  be  taken  off  very  suddenly.  But  still  there  was 
a  worm  preying  upon  the  root  of  this  pretty  gourd.  She 
nad  seldom  any  severe  pain  till  within  the  last  fortnight  of 
her  life,  and  usually  slept  well ;  but  when  awake  she  was 
always  ill.  I  believe  she  knew  not  a  single  hour  of  perfect 
ease ;  and  they  who  intimately  knew  her  state,  could  not 
but  wonder  to  see  her  so  placid,  cheerful,  and   attentive, 


3  NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM. 

when  in  company,  as  she  generally  was.  Many  a  time, 
when  the  tears  have  silently  stolen  down  her  cheeks,  if  she 
saw  that  her  aunt  or  I  observed  her,  she  would  wipe  them 
away,  come  to  us  with  a  smile  and  a  kiss,  and  say,  "  Do 
not  be  uneasy — I  am  not  very  ill — I  can  bear  it — I  shall  be 
better  presently  ;"  or  to  that  effect. 

In  April,  1784,  we  put  her  under  the  care  bf  my  dear 
friend,  Dr.  Benamor.  To  the  blessing  of  the  Lord  on  his 
skill  and  endeavors,  I  ascribe  the  pleasure  of  having  her 
continued  with  us  so  long ;  nor  can  1  sufficiently  express 
my  gratitude  for  his  assiduous,  unwearied  attention,  nor  for 
his  great  tenderness.  She  is  now  gone,  and  can  no  more 
repeat,  what  she  has  often  spoken,  of  the  great  comfort  it 
was  to  her  to  have  so  affectionate  and  sympathizing  a  phy- 
sician ;  but  while  I  live,  I  hope  it  will  always  be  my  pleasure 
to  acknowledge  our  great  obligations  to  him  on  her  account. 
His  prescriptions  were  carefully  followed.  But  what  can 
the  most  efficacious  medicines  or  the  best  physicians  avail 
to  prolong  life,  when  the  hour  approaches,  in  which  the 
prayer  of  the  great  Intercessor  must  be  accomplished,  "  Fa- 
ther, I  will  that  they  whom  thou  hast  given  me  may  be  with 
me  where  I  am,  to  behold  my  glory  !"  This  was  the  proper 
cause  of  my  dear  Eliza's  death.  The  Lord  sent  this  child 
to  me  to  be  brought  up  for  him  ;  he  owned  my  poor  endeav- 
ors ;  and  when  her  education  was  completed,  and  she  was 
ripened  for  heaven,  he  took  her  home  to  himself.  He  has 
richly  paid  me  my  wages,  in  the  employment  itself,  and  in 
the  happy  issue. 

I  have  thus  put  together,  in  one  view,  a  brief  account  of 
what  relates  to  her  illness,  till  within  the  last  three  weeks 
of  her  pilgrimage.  I  now  come  to  what  is  much  more  im- 
portant and  interesting.  Her  excellent  parents  had  con- 
scientiously endeavored  to  bring  her  up  in  the  nurture  a*\d 


NARRATIVE  OB'  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM.  9 

admonition  of  the  Lord,  and  principles  of  religion  were  in- 
stilled into  her  from  infancy.  Their  labors  were  so  far  suc- 
cessful, that  no  child  could  be  more  obedient  or  obliging,  or 
more  remote  from  evil  habits  or  evil  tempers.  But  I  could 
not  perceive,  when  she  first  came  to  us,  that  she  had  any 
heart- affecting  sense  of  divine  things  ;  but  being  under  my 
roof,  she,  of  course,  when  her  health  would  permit,  attended 
on  my  ministry,  and  was  usually  present  when  I  prayed 
and  expounded  the  Scriptures,  morning  and  evening,  in  the 
family.  Friends  and  ministers  were  likewise  frequently 
with  us,  whose  character  and  conversation  were  well  suited 
to  engage  her  notice,  and  to  help  her  to  form  a  right  idea 
of  the  Christian  principles  and.  temper. 

Knowing  that  she  was  of  a  thinking  turn,  I  left  her  to 
make  her  own  reflections  upon  what  she  saw  and  heard, 
committing  her  to  the  direction  of  the  Lord,  from  whom  1 
had  received  her,  and  entreating  him  to  be  her  effectual 
teacher.  When  I  did  attempt  to  talk  with  her  on  the  con- 
cerns of  her  soul,  she  could  give  me  no  answer  but  with 
tears.  But  I  soon  had  great  encouragement  to  hope  that 
the  Lord  had  both  enlightened  her  understanding,  and  had 
drawn  the  desires  of  her  heart  to  himself.  Great  was  her 
delight  in  the  ordinances;  exemplary  her  attention  under 
the  preaching.  To  be  debarred  from  going  to  hear  at  our 
stated  times  was  a  trial,  which,  though  she  patiently  bore, 
seemed  to  affect  her  more  than  any  other ;  and  she  did  not 
greatly  care  what  she  endured  in  the  rest  of  the  week,  pro- 
vided she  was  well  enough  to  attend  the  public  worship. 
The  judicious  observations  she  occasionally  made  upon  what 
had  passed  in  conversation,  upon  incidents,  books,  and  ser- 
mons, indicated  a  sound,  scriptural  judgment,  and  a  spiritual 
taste.  And  my  hope  was  confirmed  by  her  whole  deport- 
ment, which  was  becoming  the  Gospel  of  Christ.  So  that 
vol.  ni. 


10  NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM. 

had  she  died  suddenly  on  any  day  within  about  a  year  and 
a  half  past,  I  should  have  had  no  doubt  that  she  had  passed 
from  death  unto  life.  But  I  could  seldom  prevail  with  her 
to  speak  of  herself;  if  she  did,  it  was  with  the  greatest  diffi- 
dence and  caution. 

In  the  last  two  or  three  weeks  of  her  life,  she  became 
acquainted  with  acute  pain,  to  which  she  had  till  then  been 
much  a  stranger.  Her  gentle  spirit,  which  had  borne  up 
under  a  long  and  languishing  illness,  was  not  so  capable 
of  supporting  pain.  It  did  not  occasion  any  improper  tem- 
per of  language,  but  it  wore  her  away  apace.  Friday, 
the  30th  of  September,  she  was  down  stairs  for  the  last 
time,  and  then  she  was  brought  down  and  carried  up  in  my 
arms. 

It  now  became  veiy  desirable  to  hear  from  herself  a 
more  explicit  account  of  the  hope  that  was  in  her ;  espe- 
cially as  upon  some  symptoms  of  an  approaching  mortifi- 
cation, she  appeared  to  be  a  little  alarmed,  and  of  course 
not  thoroughly  reconciled  to  the  thoughts  of  death.  Her 
aunt  waited  for  the  first  convenient  opportunity  of  intimat- 
ing to  her  the  probability  that  the  time  of  her  departure  was 
at  hand.  The  next  morning,  Saturday,  the  first  of  October, 
presented  one.  She  found  herself  remarkably  better :  her 
pains  were  almost  gone ;  her  spirits  revived :  the  favorable 
change  was  visible  in  her  countenance. 

Her  aunt  began  to  break  the  subject  to  her,  by  saying, 
"  My  dear,  were  you  not  extremely  ill  last  night  ?" 

She  answered,  "  Indeed  I  was." 
"  Had  you  not  been  relieved,  I  think  you  could  not  have 
continued  long." 

"  I  believe  I  could  not." 

"  My  dear,  I  have  been  very  anxiously  concerned  for 
your  life." 


NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM.  |J 

"  But  I  hope,  my  dear  aunt,  you  are  not  so  now." 

She  then  opened  her  mind,  and  spoke  freely.  I  cannot 
repeat  the  whole.     The  substance  was  to  this  effect. 

"  My  views  of  things  have  been,  for  some  time,  very 
different  from  what  they  were  when  I  came  to  you.  I  have 
seen  and  felt  the  vanity  of  childhood  and  youth." 

Her  aunt  said,  "  I  believe  you  have  long  made  con- 
science of  secret  prayer." 

She  answered,  "  Yes,  I  have  long  and  earnestly  sought 
the  Lord,  with  reference  to  the  change  that  is  now  ap- 
proaching. I  have  not  that  full  assurance  which  is  so  de- 
sirable ;  but  I  have  a  hope,  I  trust  a  good  hope ;  and  I  be- 
lieve the  Lord  will  give  me  whatever  he  sees  necessary  for 
me  before  he  is  pleased  to  take  me  hence."  She  then  said, 
"  I  have  prayed  to  him  to  fit  me  for  himself;  and  then, 
whether  it  be  sooner  or  later,  it  signifies  but  little." 

Here  was  a  comfortable  point  gained.  We  were  satis- 
fied that  she  had  given  up  all  expectations  of  living,  and 
could  speak  of  her  departure  without  being  distressed. 

It  will  not  be  expected  that  a  child  of  her  age  should 
speak  systematically.  Nor  had  she  learned  her  religion 
from  a  system  or  form  of  words,  however  sound.  The 
Lord  himself  was  her  teacher.  But  from  what  little  she 
had  at  different  times-  said  to  me,  I  was  well  satisfied  that 
she  had  received  a  true  conviction  of  the  nature  of  sin,  and 
of  her  own  state  by  nature  as  a  sinner.  When  she  spoke 
of  the  Lord,  she  meant  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  the  great 
Shepherd,  who  gathers  such  lambs  in  his  arms,  and  carries 
them  in  his  bosom.  She  believed  him  to  be  God  and  man 
in  one  person ;  and  that  hope  of  which  she  was  not  ashamed, 
was  founded  on  his  atonement,  grace,  and  power.  As  I  do 
not  intend  to  put  words  into  her  mouth  which  she  never 
spoke,  I  mention  this,  lest  any  should  be  disappointed  at  not 


12  NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM. 

finding  a  certain  phraseology  to  which  they  have  been  ac- 
customed. 

Her  apparent  revival  was  of  short  duration.  In  the 
evening  of  the  same  day,  she  complained  of  a  sore  throat, 
which  became  worse,  and  by  Sabbath  noon  threatened  suf- 
focation. When  Dr.  Benamor,  who  the  day  before  had 
almost  entertained  hopes  of  her  recovery,  found  her  so  sud- 
denly and  greatly  altered,  he  could  not,  at  the  moment,  pre- 
vent some  signs  of  concern  from  appearing  in  his  counte- 
nance. She  quickly  perceived  it,  and  desired  he  would 
plainly  tell  her  his  sentiments. 

When  he  had  recovered  himself,  he  said,  "  My  dear, 
you  are  not  so  well  as  when  I  saw  you  on  Saturday." 

She  answered,  that  she  trusted  all  would  be  well  soon. 

He  replied,  that  whether  she  lived  or  died  it  would  be 
well,  and  to  the  glory  of  God.  He  told  me  that  he  had 
much  pleasing  conversation  with  her  that  morning,  some 
particulars  of  which  he  had  committed  to  writing,  but  that 
he  had  lost  the  paper.  From  that  time  she  may  be  said  to 
have  been  dying,  as  we  expected  her  departure  from  one 
hour  to  another. 

On  Monday,  October  3d,  she  was  almost  free  from  any 
complaint  in  the  throat ;  but  there  was  again  an  appearance 
of  a  mortification  in  her  legs ;  it  was,  however,  again  re- 
pelled by  the  means  which  Dr.  Benamor  prescribed. 

I  recollect  but  little  of  the  incidents  of  this  day :  in 
general  she  was  in  great  pain,  sometimes  in  agonies,  unable 
to  remain  many  minutes  in  the  same  position ;  but  her 
mind  was  peaceful.  She  possessed  a  spirit  of  recollection 
and  prayer ;  and  her  chief  attention  to  earthly  things  was 
confined  to  the  concern  she  saw  in  those  around  her.  That 
she  might  not  increase  their  distress,  she  strove  to  conceal 
the  sense  of  her  sufferings.     It  pleased  the  Lord  wonder- 


NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM.  ^3 

fully  to  support  my  dear  Mrs.  Newton,  and  she  had  a  tol- 
erable night's  rest,  though  I  did  not  expect  the  child  would 
live  till  morning. 

On  Tuesday,  the  4th,  about  nine  in  the  morning,  we  all 
thought  her  dying,  and  waited  nearly  two  hours  by  her  bed- 
side, for  her  last  breath.  She  was  much  convulsed,  and  in 
great  agonies. 

I  said,  "  My  dear,  you  are  going  to  heaven  ;  and  I  hope, 
by  the  grace  of  God,  we  shall  in  due  time  follow  you." 

She  could  not  speak,  but  let  us  know  by  a  gentle  nod 
of  her  head,  and  a  sweet  smile,  that  she  attended  to  what  I 
said. 

I  repeated  to  her  many  passages  of  Scripture  and  verses 
of  hymns,  to  each  of  which  she  made  the  same  kind  of 
answer.  Though  silent,  her  looks  were  more  expressive 
than  words. 

Towards  eleven  o'clock,  a  great  quantity  of  coagulated 
phlegm,  which  she  had  not  strength  to  bring  up,  made  her 
rattle  violently  in  the  throat,  which  we  considered  as  a  sign 
that  death  was  at  hand ;  and  as  she  seemed  unwilling  to 
take  something  that  was  offered  to  her,  we  were  loath  to 
disturb  her  in  her  last  moments,  (as  we  supposed,)  by  press- 
ing her.  I  think  she  must  have  died  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  had  not  Dr.  Benamor  just  then  come  into  the  room. 

He  felt  her  pulse,  and  observed  that  she  was  not  near 
death  by  her  pulse,  and  desired  that  something  might  be 
given  her.  She  was  perfectly  sensible,  though  still  unable 
to  speak,  but  expressed  her  unwillingness  to  take  any  thing 
by  her  strongest  efforts.  However,  she  yielded  to  entreaty, 
and  a  teaspoonful  or  two  of  some  liquid  soon  cleared  the 
passage,  and  she  revived.  Her  pain,  however,  was  extreme, 
and  her  disappointment  great.  I  never  saw  her  so  near  im- 
patience as  on  this  occasion.     As  soon  as  she  could  speak, 

Eleg.  Nar.  22 


|4  NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM 

she  cried,  "  O  cruel,  cruel,  cruel,  to  recall  me,  when  I  was 
so  happy,  and  so  near  gone !  I  wish  you  had  not  come — I 
long  to  go  home."  But  in  a  few  minutes  she  grew  com- 
posed, assented  to  what  the  doctor  said  of  her  duty  to  wait 
he  Lord's  time ;  and  from  that  hour,  though  her  desires 
te  depart  and  to  be  with  her  Saviour  were  stronger  and 
stronger,  she  cheerfully  took  whatever  was  offered  to  her 
and  frequently  asked  for  something,  of  her  own  accord. 

How  often,  were  we  to  have  our  choice,  should  we 
counteract  our  own  prayers !  I  had  entreated  the  Lord  to 
"prolong  her  life,  till  she  could  leave  an  indisputable  testi- 
mony behind  her  for  our  comfort:  yet  when  I  saw  her 
agony,  and  heard  her  say,  O  how  cruel  to  stop  me !  I  was 
for  a  moment  almost  of  her  mind,  and  could  hardly  help 
wishing  that  the  doctor  had  delayed  his  visit  a  little  longer. 
But  if  she  had  died  then,  we  should  have  been  deprived  of 
what  we  saw  and  heard  the  two  following  days;  the  re- 
•  membrance  c  f  which  is  now  much  more  precious  to  me  than 
silver  or  gold. 

When  the  doctor  came  on  Wednesday,  she  entreated 
him  to  tell  her  how  long  he  thought  she  might  live. 

He  said,  "  Are  you  in  earnest,  my  dear  ?" 

{She  answered,  "  Indeed  I  am." 

At  that  time  there  were  very  great  appearances  that  a 
mortification  was  actually  begun.  He  therefore  told  her, 
he  thought  it  possible  she  might  hold  out  till  eight  in  the 
evening,  but  did  not  expect  she  could  survive  midnight  at 
farthest.  On  hearing  him  say  so,  low  as  she  was,  her  eyes 
seemed  to  sparkle  with  their  former  vivacity;  and  fixing 
them  on  him  with  an  air  of  ineffable  satisfaction,  she  said, 
"  Oh,  that  is  good  news  indeed."  And  she  repeated  it  as 
such  to  a  person  who  came  soon  after  into  the  room,  and 
said,  with  lively  emotions  of  joy,     "  The  doctor  tells  me  T 


NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM.  J5 

shall  stay  here  but  a  few  hours  longer."  In  the  afternoon  she 
noticed  and  counted  the  clock,  I  believe  every  time  it  struck ; 
and  when  it  struck  seven,  she  saidf  "  Another  hour,  and 
then."    But  it  pleased  the  Lord  to  spare  her  to  us  another  day. 

She  suffered  much  in  the  course  of  Wednesday  night, 
but  was  quite  resigned  and  patient.  Our  kind  servants, 
who,  from  their  love  to  her  and  to  us,  watched  her  day  and 
night  with  a  solicitude  and  tenderness  which  wealth  is  too 
poor  to  purchase,  were  the  only  witnesses  of  the  affectionate 
and  grateful  manner  in  which  she  repeatedly  thanked  them 
for  their  services  and  attention  to  her.  Though  such  an 
acknowledgment  was  no  more  than  due,  yet  coming  from 
herself,  and  at  such  a  time,  they  highly  "valued  it.  She 
added  her  earnest  prayers  that  the  Lord  would  reward 
them.  To  her  "prayers  my  heart  says,  Amen.  May  they 
be  comforted  of  the  Lord  in  their  dying  hours,  as  she  was, 
and  meet  with  equal  kindness  from  those  around  them ! 

I  was  surprised  on  Thursday  morning  to  find  her  not 
only  alive,  but  in  some  respects  better.  The  tokens  of 
mortification  again  disappeared.  This  was  her  last  day, 
and  it  was  a  memorable  day  with  us.  When  Dr.  Benamor 
asked  her  how  she  did, 

"  Truly  happy,"  said  she,  "  and  if  this  be  dying,  it  is  a 
pleasant  thing  to  die."  (The  very  expression  which  a  dear 
friend  of  mine  used  upon  her  death-bed  a  few  years  ago.) 

She  said  to  me,  about  ten  o'clock,  "  My  dear  uncle,  1 
would  not  change  conditions  with  any  person  upon  earth: 
O,  how  gracious  is  the  Lord  to  me  !  Oh,  what  a  change  is 
before  me  !"  She  was  several  times  asked  if  she  could  wish 
to  live,  provided  the  Lord  would  restore  her  to  perfect 
health ;  her  answer  was,  "  Not  for  all  the  world ;"  and 
sometimes,  "Not  for  a  thousand  worlds." 

The  last  time  she  was  asked  this  question,  she  said,  as 


IQ  NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM. 

I  have  been  since  informed,  "  I  desire  to  have  no  choice." 
"  Do  not  weep  for  me,"  said  she,  "  my  dear  aunt,  but  rather 
rejoice  and  praise  on  my  account." 

We  asked  her  if  she  would  choose  a  text  for  her  own 
funeral  sermon. 

She  readily  mentioned,  "  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  he 
chasteneth."  "  That,"  said  she,  "  has  been  my  experience ; 
my  afflictions  have  been  many,  but  not  one  too  many ;  nor 
has  the  greatest  of  them  all  been  too  great ;  I  praise  him 
for  them  all."  But  after  a  pause,  she  said,  "Stay,  I  think 
there  is  another  text  which  may  do  better;  let  it  be, 
'  Blessed  are  the  dead  which  die  in  the  Lord ;'  that  is  my 
experience  now."  She  likewise  chose  a  hymn  to  be  sung 
after  the  sermon. 

"  In  vain  my  fancy  strives  to  paint 
The  moment  after  death  ; 
The  glories  that  surround  a  saint 
When  yielding  up  his  breath. 

One  gentle  sigh  his  fetters  breaks, 
We  scarce  can  say,  *  He's  gdhe  I' 

Before  the  willing  spirit  takes 
Its  mansion  near  the  throne. 

Faith  strives,  but  all  its  efforts  fail, 

To  trace  the  spirit's  flight ; 
No  eye  can  pierce  within  the  vail 

Which  hides  the  world  of  light. 

Thus  much  (and  this  is  all)  we  know. 

Saints  are  completely  blest ; 
Have  done  with  sin,  and  care,  and  woe, 

And  with  their  Saviour  rest : 

On  harps  of  gold  they  praise  his  name, 

His  face  they  always  view ; 
Then  let  us  followers  be  of  them, 

That  we  may  praise  him  too." 


NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM.  \~J 

But  I  must  check  myself,  and  set  down  but  a  small  part 
of  the  gracious  words  which  the  Lord  enabled  her  to  speak 
in  the  course  of  the  day,  though  she  was  frequently  inter, 
rupted  by  pains  and  agonies. 

She  had  something  to  say,  either  in  a  way  of  admonition 
or  consolation,  as  she  thought  most  suitable,  to  every  one 
she  saw. 

To  her  most  constant  attendant  she  said,  "  Be  sure  you 
continue  to  call  on  the  Lord ;  and  if  you  think  he  does  not 
hear  you  now,  he  will  at  last,  as  he  has  heard  me." 

She  spoke  a  great  deal  to  an  intimate  friend,  who  was 
with  her  every  day,  which  I  hope  she  will  long  remember, 
as  the  testimony  of  her  dying  Eliza.  Among  other  things, 
she  said,  "  See  how  comfortable  the  Lord  can  make  a  dying 
bed  !  Do  you  think  that  you  shall  have  such  an  assurance 
when  you  come  to  die  Vs 

Being  answered,  "I  hope  so,  my  dear;"  she  replied, 

"  But  do  you  earnestly,  and  with  all  your  heart,  pray  to 
the  Lord  for  it  ?  If  you  seek  him,  you  shall  surely  find 
him."  She  then  prayed  affectionately  and  fervently  for  her 
friend,  afterwards  for  her  cousin,  and  then  for-  another  of 
our  family  who  was  present.  Her  prayer  was  not  long, 
but  every  word  was  weighty,  and  her  manner  was  very 
affecting.  The  purport  was,  that  they  might  all  be  taught 
and  comforted  by  the  Lord. 

About  five  in  the  afternoon,  she  desired  me  to  pray  with 
her  once  more.     Surely  I  then  prayed  from  my  heart. 

When  I  had  finished,  she  said,-a  Amen." 

I  said,  "  My  dear  child,  have  I  expressed  your  meaning  Vs 

She  answered,  "  O,  yes !"  and  then  added,  "lam  ready 
to  say,  Why  are  his  chariot  wheels  so  long  in  coming  ?  But 
I  hope  he  will  enable  me  to  wait  his  hour  with  patience." 

These  were  the  mst  words  T  heard  her  speak. 

oof 


|g  NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM. 

Mrs.  Newton's  heart  was  much,  perhaps  too  much,  at- 
tached to  this  dear  child ;  which  is  not  to  be  wondered  at, 
considering  what  sort  of  a  child  she  was,  and  how  long  and 
how  much  she  had  suffered.  But  the  Lord  was  pleased 
graciously  to  support  her  in  this  trying  season.  Indeed, 
here  was  more  cause  for  joy  than  for  grief;  yet  the  pain  of 
separation  will  be  felt.  Eliza  well  knew  her  feelings,  and  a 
concern  for  her  was,  I  believe,  the  last  anxiety  that  remained 
with  her.  She  said  to  those  about  her,  "  Try  to  persuade 
my  aunt  to  leave  the  room ;  1  think  I  shall  soon  go  to 
sleep;  I  shall  not  remain  with  you  till  the  morning." 
Her  aunt,  however,  was  the  last  person  who  heard  her 
speak,  and  was  sitting  by  her  bed  when  she  went  away. 

A  little  after  six,  hearing  that  a  relation  who  dearly 
loved  her,  and  was  beloved  by  her,  who  had  come  daily 
from  Westminster  to  see  her,  was  below  stairs,  she  said, 
u  Raise  me  up,  that  I  may  speak  to  him  once  more." 

Her  aunt  said,  "  My  dear,  you  are  nearly  exhausted,  I 
think  you  had  better  not  attempt  it." 

She  smiled,  and  said,  "  It  is  very  well,  I  will  not." 

She  was  then  within  half  an  hour  of  her  translation  to 
glory ;  but  the  love  of  her  dear  Lord  had  so  filled  her  with 
benevolence,  that  she  was  ready  to  exert  herself  to  her  last 
breath,  in  hope  of  saying  something  that  might  be  useful  to 
others  after  she  was  gone. 

Towards  seven  o'clock,  I  was  walking  in  the  garden, 
and  earnestly  engaged  in  prayer  for  her,  when  a  servant 
came  to  me  and  said,  "  She  is  gone."  O  Lord,  how  great 
is  thy  power !  how  great  is  thy  goodness !  A  few  days 
before,  had  it  been  practicable  and  lawful,  what  would  I 
not  have  given  to  procure  her  recovery  ?  Yet  seldom  in 
my  life  have  I  known  a  more  heartfelt  joy  than  when  these 
words.  She  is  gone,  sounded  in  my  ears.     I  ran  up  stairs, 


NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM.  JQ 

^and  our  whole  little  family  was  soon  around  her  bed. 
Though  her  aunt  and  another  person  were  sitting  with  their 
eyes  fixed  upon  her,  she  was  gone  perhaps  a  few  minutes 
before  she  was  missed.  She  lay  upon  her  left  side,  with 
her  cheek  gently  reclining  upon  her  hand,  as  if  in  a  sweet 
sleep ;  and  I  thought  there  was  a  smile  upon  her  counte- 
nance. Never,  surely,  did  death -appear  in  a  more  beauti- 
ful, inviting  form.  We  fell  upon  our  knees,  and  I  returned, 
I  think  I  may  say,  my  most  unfeigned  thanks  to  our  God 
and  Saviour,  for  his  abundant  goodness  to  her,  crowned  in 
this  last  instance,  by  giving  her  so  gentle  a  dismission. 
Yes,  I  am  satisfied ;  I  am  comforted.  And  if  one  of  the 
many  involuntary  tears  I  have  shed,  could  have  recalled  her 
to  life,  to  health,  to  an  assemblage  of  all  that  this  world  could 
contribute  to  her  happiness,  I  would  have  labored  hard  to 
suppress  it.  Now  my  largest  desires  for  her  are  accom- 
plished. The  days  of  her  mourning  are  ended.  She  is 
landed  on  that  peaceful  shore  where  the  storms  of  trouble 
never  blow.  She  is  for  ever  out  of  the  reach  of  sorrow,  sin, 
temptation,  and  snares.  Now  is  she  before  the  throne  ;  she 
sees  Him,  whom  not  having  seen,  she  loved ;  she  drinks  of 
the  rivers  of  pleasure  which  are  at  his  right  hand,  and  shall 
thirst  no  more. 

She  was  born  February  6,  1771. 

She  breathed  her  spirit  into  her  Redeemer's  hands  a 
little  before  seven  in  the  evening,  on  October  6,  1785, 
aged  fourteen  years  and  eight  months. 

I  shall  be  glad  if  this  little  narrative  may  prove  an  en- 
couragement to  Christians  who  have  children.  May  we 
not  conceive  the  Lord  saying  to  us,  as  Pharaoh's  daughter 
said  to  the  mother  of  Moses,  "  Take  this  child,  and  bring  it 
up  for  me,  and  I  will  pay  thee  thy  wages  ?"     How  solemn 


20  NARRATIVE  OF  ELIZA  CUNNINGHAM. 

the  trust !  important  and  difficult  the  charge  of  it !  but  how, 
rich  the  reward,  if  our  endeavors  are  crowned  with  success ! 
And  we  have  every  thing  to  hope  from  his  power  and  good- 
ness, if,  in  dependence  upon  his  blessing,  we  can  fully  and 
diligently  aim  at  fulfilling  his  will.  Happy  they,  who  shal] 
say  at  the  last  day,  "  Behold,  here  am  I,  and  the  children 
which  thou  hast  given  me  !"  , 

Many  children  will  likewise  see  this  narrative.  May  it 
convince  them  ihat  it  is  practicable  and  good  to  seek  the 
Lord  betimes !  My  dear  Eliza's  state  of  languor  prevented 
her  from  associating  with  young  people  of  her  own  age  so 
frequently  and  freely  as  she  might  otherwise  have  done. 
But  these  papers  will  come  into  the  hands  of  such.  To 
them  I  particularly  recommend  and  dedicate  this  relation. 
Oh,  my  dear  young  friends,  had  you  seen  with  what  dignity 
of  spirit  she  filled  up  the  last  scene  of  her  life,  you  must 
have  been  affected  by  it !  Let  not  the  liveliness  of  your 
spirits,  and  the  gayety  of  the  prospect  around  you,  prevent 
you  from  considering,  that  to  you  likewise,  days  will  cer- 
tainly come,  unless  you  are  suddenly  snatched  out  of  life, 
when  you  will  say  and  feel  that  the  world,  and  all  in  it,  can 
afford  you  no  pleasure.  But  there  is  a  Saviour,  Jesus 
Christ,  a  Mighty  One,  always  near,  always  gracious  to 
those  who  seek  him.  May  you,  like  her,  be  enabled  to 
choose  him  as  the  Guide  of  your  youth,  and  the  Lord  of 
your  hearts.  Then,  like  her,  you  will  find  support  and 
comfort  under  affliction,  wisdom  to  direct  your  conduct,  a 
good  hope  in  death,  and  by  death  a  haj)py  translation  to 
everlasting  life. 

I  have  only  to  add  my  prayers  that  a  blessing  from  on 
high  may  descend  upon  the  persons  and  families  of  all  my 
friends,  and  upon  all  into  whose  hands  this  paper  may  prov- 
identially come.  JOHN  NEWTON. 


NARRATIVE   XI 


THE  WATCHMAKER  AND  HIS  FAMILY. 


mm 


1  T  was  Saturday  night, 
the  clock  had  struck  elev- 
en— we  took  leave  of  our 
friends,  and  directed  our 
steps  homeward.  After 
passing  through  several 
streets,  we  turned  into  a 
lif  m  narrow  lane;   all  was  si- 

lent and  dark,  except  one  low  window.     "  There,"  said  I, 
"  perhaps  some  poor  mechanic,  already  tired  with  the  labor 

of  the  day,  still  endeavors  tj  increase  his  trifling  pittance." 
vol.  ttt.     . 


2 


THE  WATCHMAKER 


"Let  us  stop  and  see,"  said  my  companion.  It  was 
not  difficult,  for  the  house  was  an  old-fashioned  structure, 
built  when  the  level  of  the  ground  was  considerably  lower 
than  at  present;  so  that  passengers  easily  saw  what  was 
passing  within. 

When  we  came  opposite  the  window  we  saw  a  middle, 
aged  man  at  his  work-table,  finishing  one  of  the  movements 
of  a  timepiece — his  tool  slipped,  and  the  work  was  spoiled — 
he  repeated  the  attempt,  and  again  he  was  unsuccessful ;  a 
slight  and  momentary  expression  of  trouble  appeared  on  his 
countenance,  but  the  cloud  soon  passed  away ;  he  clasped 
his  hands  and  looked  upwards,  while  his  lips  moved  as  if 
uttering  a  short  and  fervent  prayer ;  the  expression  of 
trouble  disappeared ;  he  resumed  his  work.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  looked  at  the  hour,  and  seeing  it  was  now  mid- 
night, laid  aside  his  work.  Then,  removing  the  lamp  to  a 
table  in  another  part  of  the  room,  took  a  book  and  began  to 
read ;  presently  he  closed  it,  and  kneeling  down  prayed 
earnestly;  afterwards,  resuming  his  seat,  he  was  for  a 
short  time  engaged  in  meditation,  then  taking  up  the  lamp 
left  the  room. 

"  There  -goes  one  of  your  godly  ones,"  said  my  com- 
panion, walking  on  ;  "I  am  sure  he  is  one  of  that  sort." 

<•'  May  be  so ;  but  did  you  not  observe  his  patience, 
although  he  repeatedly  failed  in  his  work  ?  Did  you  mark 
the  expression  of  his  countenance  ?  it  indicated  trouble,  but 


not  anger  or  vexation." 


"  Yes,  it  was  a  peculiar  expression,  very  different  from 
that  of  workmen  in  general  when  an  accident  befalls  them. 
I  could  not  but  observe  it— the  man  seems  poor,  but  there 
is  something  very  decent  and  even  respectable  about  him  ; 
but  what  could  be  the  reason  why  he  left  off  without  finish- 
ing the  movement  ?" 


AND  HIS  FAMILY.  3 

"  Did  not  you  see  it  was  twelve  o'clock  ?  The  Lord's 
day — the  day  of  rest  from  wordly  care  and  employments, 
has  begun." 

"  Well,  this  is  being  righteous  overmuch ;  if  he  went 
lo  church  as  usual,  surely  it  could  be  no  matter  whether  he 
worked  half  an  hour  longer  to  finish  what  he  was  about  or 
not ;  the  man  has  to  support  his  family.  This  is  one  of  the 
mistakes  about  religion." 

"  I  differ  from  you  :  I  cannot  blame  the  utmost  strictness 
in  endeavoring  to  do  the  will  of  God.  Surely,  no  man  can  be 
righteous  overmuch  while  doing  as  the  Bible  directs  him." 

"But  what  harm  would  it  have  been  if  this  poor  man 
had  worked  an  hour  or  two  longer  ?  He  must  have  some 
reason  for  being  so  late  at  his  work :  perhaps  his  wife  01 
children  are  ill."  . 

"  He  thinks  that  he  ought  to  obey  the  commands  of  God 
before  any  thing  else  ;  and  he  is  sure  that  God  will  not 
allow  him  to  suffer  for  obeying  his  will." 

"  Then  you  suppose  that  he  expects  God  will  work 
some  miracle  to  help  him ;  for  surely,  if  his  work  is  not 
finished,  he  will  not  be  paid  for  it.  For  my  part,  I  should 
not  understand  a  workman  leaving  a  piece  of  work  unfin- 
ished for  any  such  fanatical  notions ;  and  if  his  master  is  of 
the  same  opinion,  and  should  want  the  work  to-morrow, 
what  will  become  of  him  ?" 

"  My  friend,  every  thing  in  this  world  belongs  to  God ; 
and  let  us  remember,  that  he  causes  all  things  to  work 
ogether  for  good  to  those  who  love  him." 

"  All  this  may  be  very  true,  but  I  should  like  to  know 
something  more  of  this  man.  I  think  I  will  come  this  way 
to-morrow  morning,  and  see  what  he  is  about.  I  shall  call 
at  your  house  in  the  afternoon." 


THE  WATCHMAKER 


SABBATH    MORNING. 


"  Well,"  said  I,  "  my  friend,  have  you  been  looking 
after  our  poor  watchmaker  V* 

"  Yes,  and  I  do  not  know  what  to  make  of  him ;  there 
something  extraordinary  in  every  thing  he  says  and  does ; 
I  never  saw  one  like  him  before." 

"  Why,  what  has  happened  ?" 

"  After  we  parted  last  night  I  thought  a  good  deal  about 
what  we  had  seen.  I  rose  early  this  morning,  and  was 
again  at  the  house  by  six  o'clock.  I  had  hardly  entered 
the  dwelling  when  I  heard  the  poor  watchmaker  singing. 
Now,  thought  I,  I  have  found  you  at  work ;  but  I  was  mis- 
taken :  he  was  sitting  with  his  children  around  him  ;  a 
Bible  lay  open^on  the  table,  and  they  were  singing  the  103d 
Psalm.  Next  him  sat  a  young  girl  about  fourteen,  her  arm 
rested  on  his  shoulder.  Between  his  knees  stood  a  child 
three  or  four  years  old,  while  another  brother,  some  years 
older,  completed  the  group.  They  sang  in  a  most  pleasing 
manner,  and  I  heard  another  voice  from  the  next  room  join- 
ing with  them  ;  what  they  sang  evidently  came  from  their 
hearts,  and  I  must  confess  it  went  to  mine." 

"  That  is  not  surprising;  but  proceed." 

"  After  they  had  sung,  they  knelt  down  and  prayed.  I 
was  particularly  struck  with  the  prayer  of  the  daughter  ; 
here  it  is  ;  I  wrote  it  down,  and  will  read  it  to  you.  '  O, 
thou  blessed  Saviour,  the  friend  of  sinners,  we  call  upon 
thee  with  our  whole  hearts,  and  may  thy  Holy  Spirit  teach 
us  to  pray  aright.  We  lived  without  the  knowledge  or 
love  of  thee,  and  were  always  unhappy ;  but  now,  O  Lord, 
we  love  thee,  and  delight  to  serve  thee.  Oh !  be  with  us 
and  bless  us ;  especially,  be  with  us  this  day  ;  it  is  thine 
own  day.     Enable  us  to  serve  thee  with  all  our  hearts  ; 


AND  HIS  FAMILY.  5 

may  w  e  be  attentive  to  thy  word,  and  enable  us  to  under- 
stand it.  Bless  our  dear  minister,  who  teaches  us  to  know 
thee  :  O  Lord,  be  with  our  dear  mother ;  we  entreat  thee  for 
her ;  thou  canst  take  away  her  sickness,  if  it  be  thy  will — 
(a  voice  from  the  next  room  added,  f  But  thy  will  be  done ') — 
yes,  O  Lord,  thy  will  be  done ;  may  our  dear  father  be 
spared  to  us,  and  may  we  all  be  good  children.     Amen.' 

"  <  Now  for  breakfast,'  said  the  father.  *  Jenny,  where 
is  the  milk  V  The  table  was  presently  covered  with  four 
cups,  half  a  loaf,  and  a  jug  of  milk  ;  they  took  their  places, 
and  the  father  asked  a  blessing." 

"  You  have  drawn  an  interesting  picture  indeed,"  said 
I.  "  Compare  this  humble  meal  with  the  sumptuous  repasts 
of  the  world,  and  say  in  which  of  them  is  true  happiness. 
A  poor  artisan  entreats  God  to  bless  his  humble  fare,  and 
eats  with  pleasure  and  without  repining;  while  the  irre- 
ligious and  sensual  man  sits  down  to  his  crowded  board 
without  even  thinking  of  the  Almighty,  who  gives  him  all 
things  richly  to  enjoy." 

"  The  clock  struck  eight ;  '  Jenny,  are  you  ready  to 
repeat  your  chapter  V  said  the  father.  *  Yes,  I  learned  it 
last  night,  and  have  looked  over  it  again  this  morning.' — 
*  Clement,  are  you  ready  V  '  I  will  look  over  it  once  more,' 
answered  the  boy,  and  sat  down  by  the  window. 

" '  My  children,  I  hope  you  will  be  perfect  in  your 
catechism  to-day ;  do  not  let  me  have  the  pain  to  hear  you 
are  wrong  in  your  answers ;  your  teacher  will  also  be 
grieved ;  remember  he  told  you  once  you  were  more  ready 
at  reading  any  thing  than  your  Bible ;  don't  let  him  have 
to  say  this  again.  Set  a  good  example  ;  let  it  not  be  said, 
the  children  who  have  been  taught  to  know  the  Saviour  are 
behind  those  who  are  ignorant  of  the  truth.  Jenny,  which 
is  best,  to  love  the  Saviour  or  to  love  the  world  V 

Eleg.  Nar.  23 


Q  THE  WATCHMAKER 

"  l  Ah,  my  dear  father,  would  that  I  loved  the  Lord  more 
than  I  do.' 

" '  Be  of  good  cheer,  my  dear  child,  he  who  has  begun 
in  you  a  good  work  will  complete  it ;  he  is  faithful,  he  will 
upport  and  strengthen  you.  Go  and  see  if  you  can  help 
-jour  mother.' 

KEEP  HOLY  THE  SABBATH-DAY. 

"  At  this  moment  a  man  came  up  the  stairs ;  he  was 
well  dressed,  but  his  countenance  looked  harsh  and  forbid- 
ding. He  appeared  quite  out  of  humor,  and  throwing  open 
the  door,  exclaimed,  in  an  angry  tone,  '  Must  I  always  be 
obliged  to  look  after  you  in  this  way  ?  have  not  you  finished 
the  work  I  gave  you  ?     I  must  have  it  this  morning.' 

"Frightened  at  his  voice  and  manner,  the  boys  ran 
and  hid  themselves  in  the  next  room.  Jenny  stood  by 
the  door.  The  watchmaker  offered  a  chair  to  his  master. 
1  Pooh  !  none  of  your  ceremonies,  where  is  your  work  V 

"  <  Sir,  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  have  not  been  able  quite 
to  finish  the  timepiece.  I  worked  till  midnight,  but  I  met 
with  some  accidents.' 

" s  Yes,  that  is  always  the  way  with  you,  always 
clumsy,  and  some  paltry  excuse  or  other :  what  state  is  it 
in  V  He  opened  the  case  in  which  the  timepiece  was 
placed,  and  taking  out  a  magnifying  glass,  examined  the 
work.  '  Well,  very  well  indeed ;  so  far  good !  Come,  my 
good  fellow,  to  your  bench  directly ;  you  will  finish  it  in 
two  or  three  hours,  and  then  your  money  will  be  ready.' 

" '  You  forget,  sir,'  said  the  watchmaker,  in  a  calm  but 
firm  tone,  '  that  this  is  the  Sabbath,  and  I  cannot ' 

" ( Pooh !  none  of  your  nonsense ;  you  are  one  of  the 
saints,  are  you  ?     I  wish  the  whole  pack  of  them  at  the 


AND  HIS  FAMILY.  7 

bottom  of  the  sea.  What  harm  can  there  be  in  working  an 
hour  or  two  1  There  will  be  plenty  of  time  afterwards  for 
two  long  sermons ;  besides,  God  never  can  wish  you  should 
starve.' 

" '  Sir,  I  will  engage  that  the  timepiece  shall  be  at  your 
house  as  early  as  you  please  to-morrow ;  I  will  set  about  it 
by  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  You  cannot  send  it  off  be- 
fore noon,  so  there  will  be  time  enough  to  examine  that  it  is 
properly  finished.' 

" '  I  did  not  ask  for  your  opinion,  but  desired  you  would 
set  about  it  directly ;  do  you  intend  to  do  so  or  not  V 

"  The  poor  workman  shut  his  box,  saying,  in  a  humble 
tone,  l.  Sir,  I  cannot  work  to-day.' 

"  \  What  a  fool  you  are !  I  am  sorry,  for  you  are  a 
clever  hand,  and  I  had  intended  to  help  you.  If  you  lose 
my  work  it  is  your  fault.     Have  you  any  thing  else  to  do  V 

" '  No,  I  have  not  any  work  besides  this.' 

"'  Well,  then,  take  my  advice,  lay  aside  these  nonsen- 
sical scruples :  my  religion  allows  me  to  attend  to  my  busi- 
ness on  Sunday  morning.' 

"  \  Mine,  sir,  does  not.' 

" '  As  much  as  to  say,  you  are  a  great  deal  wiser  than  I 
am.  If  work  is  to  be  done,  it  must  be  done ;  besides,  the 
Bible  says  that  the  Sabbath,  was  made  for  man,  and  not  man 
for  the  Sabbath ;  what  do  you  say  to  that  V 

"  f  No  doubt  it  is  true ;  but  man  was  created  to  serve 
the  Lord  with  all  his  heart.  It  is  a  privilege  and  a  pleas- 
ure to  keep  the  Sabbath,  and  worship  the  Lord  on  his  own 
day ;  it  would  be  misery  indeed  to  profane  it,  and  surely 
his  blessing  would  not  be  with  my  labor.' 

" '  Am  I  accursed  ?  Are  we  all  pagans  and  infidels 
because  we  do  not  go  to  your  ( house  of  prayer,'  as  you 
call  it  ?     Depend  upon  it,  this  hypocritical  nonsense  will  get 


g  THE  WATCHMAKER 

you  into  trouble.  We  must  really  see  and  do  something 
with  the  people  that  make  such  a  disturbance,  and  are  so 
troublesome.' 

" '  Sir,  surely  you  cannot  mean  that  keeping  the  Lord's 
day  holy  is  making  a  disturbance ;  please  to  remember, 
there  are  laws  which  expressly  forbid  us  to  follow  our 
worldly  callings  on  this  day.5 

" '  I  did  not  come  here  to  be  taught  my  duty  ;  once  for 
all,  finish  the  work,  or  I  must  take  it  away.' 

" '  The  Lord  will  provide,  and  may  he  forgive  you  for 
taking  away  work  from  a  man  with  a  large  family  and  a 
sick  wife,  when  there  really  is  no  reason  for  so  doing. ' 

"  <  I  do  not  take  it  away ;  you  refuse  to  finish  it.  When 
you  are  come  to  your  senses,  perhaps  I  may  find  you  work 
again.' 

"This  hard-hearted  man  then  left  the  room — the  watch- 
maker raised  his  eyes  towards  heaven  and  sat  down.  I 
came  away  not  a  little  grieved  and  struck  with  what  I  saw 
and  heard." 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  it,"  said  I ;  "  this  master  is  indeed 
hard-hearted !  Thus  it  is  that,  though  there  are  some  who 
conscientiously  regard  the  Sabbath,  the  general  profanation 
of  this  day  has  become  a  disgrace  to  our  country,  and  a 
national  sin  :  alas  !  we  see  it  in  every  rank.  The  effect  of 
bad  example  is  great,  and  I  believe  workmen  often  employ 
this  day  in  their  usual  labors,  though  not  required  by  their 
employers ;  or  perhaps  they  occupy  themselves  in  some 
other  sort  of  work ;  not  to  mention  the  idle  and  lounging 
manner  in  which  thousands  pass  the  day,  and  by  which  it 
is  in  reality  as  much  profaned  as  by  the  hardest  labor. 
Again,  I  fear  persons  who  themselves  would  on  no  account 
break  the  Sabbath,  often  thoughtlessly  compel  others  to  do 
so  ;  they  go  perhaps  at  the  latter  end  of  the  week,  and  order 


AND  HIS  FAMILY. 


9 


articles  to  be  ready  by  Monday  or  Tuesday,  without  reflect- 
ing that  their  orders  cannot  be  completed  unless  the  poor 
workman  labors  hard  the  whole  of  the  Sabbath ;  in  such 
cases,  surely,  the  person  who  causes  the  profanation  of  the 
day  is  equally  guilty  with  the  laborer.  I  have  known  mis- 
tresses of  families  who  would  be  shocked  if  you  asked  them 
to  join  a  party  of  pleasure,  or  to  direct  their  servants  to  do 
some  unnecessary  work  on  that  day,  without  hesitation  give 
their  dress-maker  such  strict  orders  to  complete  some  article 
of  apparel  by  a  particular  time,  as  would  compel  them  to 
work  on  the  Lord's  day. 

"  The  Son  of  man  is  Lord  of  the  Sabbath,  and  his 
people  are  freed  from  the  slavish  observance  of  the  Sabbath 
according  to  the  rites  of  the  Jews  in  times  of  old,  but  still  it 
is  his  day ;  it  is  the  Lord's  day,  set  apart  peculiarly  for 
opportunities  of  worshipping  him  and  attending  to  the  con- 
cerns of  our  souls ;  so  that  those  who  needlessly  employ  it 
otherwise  themselves,  or  cause  others  to  do  so,  assuredly 
break  his  holy  word,  and  act  contrary  to  his  will :  and  let 
it  ever  be  remembered,  that  Sabbath-breaking  almost  inva- 
riably stands  the  first  in  the  dark  catalogue  of  those  crimes 
which  lead  men  to  punishment.  This  should  particularly 
be  inculcated  on  the  minds  of  children.  As  for  this  poor 
watchmaker,  your  account  makes  me  anxious  to  know  more 
about  him ;  I  intend  to  call  upon  him  this  evening ;  suppose 
you  go  with  me,  and  we  will  see  if  we  can  help  the  poor 


man." 


SABBATH  EVENING. 

Blessed  is  the  house  where  those  who  bear  rule  seek  the 
Lord.  There  can  be  no  real  peace  or  comfort  in  a  family 
unless  the  parents  love  the  Saviour ;  then  his  peace  will  be 

with  them  and  their  household.     "  The  curse  of  the  Lord  is 

vol.  in.  23* 


IQ  THE  WATCHMAKER 

in  the  house  of  the  wicked,  but  he  blesseth  the  habitation  of 
the  just."     Prov.  3  :  33. 

This  was  instanced  in  our  poor  watchmaker.  At  eight 
o'clock  we  knocked  at  the  door  of  his  room ;  Jenny  came 
and  asked,  "  Who  is  there  ?" 

"Friends  of  your  father." 

She  called  him :  he  came,  and  said,  "  Gentlemen,  I  do 
not  recollect  you,  but  if  you  please,  walk  in." 

"  I  am  a  servant  of  Christ,"  said  I,  offering  my  hand, 
"  and  I  trust  it  is  upon  his  work  we  are  come." 

"  If  this  is  the  case,  perhaps  you  will  join  our  little 
circle ;"  so  saying,  he  led  us  into  the  inner  room.  We 
found  his  wife  sitting  up  in  bed,  the  youngest  child  lay  in  a 
cradle,  and  the  other  two  children  stood  by  the  bedside ; 
two  or  three  friends  sat  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  where 
a  Bible  lay  open  upon  the  table. 

"  These  are  our  friends,  and  also  friends  of  our  Sav- 
iour," said  the  watchmaker  to  us ;  "  they  call  here  some- 
times  on  the  Lord's  day  evening,  to  talk  over  those  things 
which  concern  our  souls.  I  was  just  now  endeavoring  to 
explain  to  the  children  the  parable  of  the  two  friends." 
Luke  11:5. 

"  Do  not  let  us  interrupt  you." 

THE  PARABLE. 

The  father  then  proceeded  to  explain  the  love  of  God  to 
his  children,  and  to  show  that  they  might  be  sure  of  being 
Eieard  and  answered  when  they  prayed  earnestly  with  sin- 
cerity and  trutk  "  Observe,"  said  he,  "  this  friend  came 
at  midnight,  an  unseasonable  hour,  but  he  did  not  hesitate, 
for  it  was  a  friend  to  whom  he  applied.  He  was  not  dis- 
couraged at  being  refused,  for  he  knew  that  his  friend  could 


AND  HIS  FAMILY.  n 

give  him  what  he  desired ;  he  knew  his  kind  disposition,  his 
readiness  to  oblige,  and  he  trusted  in  his  friend's  affection 
for  him — he  was  not  mistaken;  he  obtained  all  that  he 
asked  for.  Now,  my  dear  children,  is  not  our  God  a  better 
friend  than  any  we  can  have  in  this  world  ?  is  there  any  one 
of  our  friends,  even  the  best  we  have,  who  would  lay  down 
his  life  for  us  ?  Would  any  one  offer  to  bear  the  wrath  of 
God  for  us  ?  Yet  our  Saviour  bore  this  when  he  was  nailed 
to  the  cross.  Again,  can  there  be  a  friend  richer  or  more 
powerful  than  he  is  ?  Think  for  a  moment :  what  are  the 
riches  of  this  world  when  compared  with  the  treasures  ot 
his  love  1  And  do  not  let  us  forget,  that  our  Friend  is  not 
only  thus  able  to  give  exceeding  abundantly  above  all  we 
can  ask  or  think,  but  he  is  also  ready  and  willing  so  to  do. 
He  will  withhold  nothing  that  is  for  their  good,  from  those 
who  really  seek  him.  He  is  always  ready  to  hear,  times 
and  seasons  are  alike  to  him  :  I  say  this,  my  children,  know- 
ing that  what  I  say  is  true ;  his  ears  are  always  open  to  our 
prayers,  he  is  always  ready  to  hearken  unto  us  and  to  bless 
us.  Remember  what  he  has  done  for  us  in  times  past.  My 
dear  children,  look  to  the  Saviour,  he  has  said  that  he  will 
give  his  Holy  Spirit  to  those  who  ask  him ;  apply  to  your 
heavenly  Father  as  you  would  to  me — perhaps  I  do  not 
attend  to  you  directly,  but  you  are  not  afraid  to  ask  again, 
till  your  desires  are  attended  to — plead  thus  with  your  heav- 
enly Father,  he  will  hear  and  answer  you ;  earnestly  do  I 
entreat  him  that  you  may  be  led  to  seek  him  early."  Pro  v. 
8:  17. 

A  respectable  female,  one  of  the  party,  who  was  their 
aunt,  added  a  few  words  of  good  advice ;  among  other  things, 
she  told  the  children  always  to  pray  at  night  before  they  got 
into  bed,  for  when  they  put  it  off  till  they  laid  down,  they 
would  be  tired,  and  would  only  offer  up  a  few  vague  and 


^  2  THE  WATCHMAKER 

sleepy  words.  "  This,  my  dear  children,"  said  she,  "  is 
not  praying."  The  two  children  thanked  their  aunt  and 
father,  and  having  kissed  their  mother,  retired  to  their  little 
beds. 

"  They  are  not  aware  of  their  privileges,"  said  I ;  "  one 
day  they  will  know  the  advantage  of  having  had  parents 
who  loved  the  Saviour:  may  he  bless  your  endeavors  to 
instruct  them." 

"  Amen  !"  said  the  mother.  "  It  is  my  earnest  prayer 
that  my  dear  Jenny  may  early  know  what  it  is  to  seek  the 
Lord ;  then  I  can  leave  her  without  anxiety." 

"  The  blessing  of  the  Lord,"  said  I,  "  is  with  you  ;  lie 
will  make  your  strength  equal  to  your  day." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  watchmaker,  "  the  Lord  is  our  shep- 
herd :  he  crowneth  us  with  loving  kindness  and  tender  mer- 
cies." 

"  My  good  friend,"  said  I,  "  have  you  long  held  these 
sentiments  ?     What  first  led  you  to  this  way  of  thinking  ?" 

11  Sir,  I  will  tell  you  as  briefly  as  I  can,  since  you  wish 
to  know  the  particulars." 

HISTORY  OF  THE  WATCHMAKER. 

"  I  was  brought  up  to  the  watch-making  business — first 
errand-boy,  then  apprentice,  afterwards  a  journeyman,  in  a 
considerable  manufactory.  But,  alas,  I  was  scarcely  in- 
structed in  the  first  principles  of  religion  :  my  parents  were 
poor,  and  they  were  glad  to  find  a  place  for  me  as  soon  as  I 
could  earn  a  trifle.  My  master  taught  me  nothing  except 
my  business  ;  and  although  my  memory  was  good,  and  re- 
tained what  little  I  had  learned,  it  was  very  little  indeed. 
I  was  like  the  generality  of  mechanics,  disorderly  and  irre- 
ligious ;  I  laughed  at  the  Bible,  though  I  had  hardly  ever 


AND  HIS  FAMILY.  13 

looked  in  it ;  while  the  blasphemies  of  Paine  and  Voltaire, 
and  other  works  of  a  licentious  and  impure  description, 
were  my  delight.  I  was  a  skilful  workman,  and  earned  a 
good  deal  of  money,  but  I  squandered  all  away  as  fast  as  I 
received  it:  the  public-house  was  my  daily  resort;  in  a 
word,  I  was  just  that  thoughtless,  wicked  being,  which  most 
of  our  artisans  are,  careless  of  the  morrow,  and  indifferent 
as  to  the  concerns  of  my  soul. 

"  This  was  the  wretched  course  in  which  I  lived  when 
I  married  my  dear  wife  :  she  was  then  ignorant  of  the 
Saviour,  but  she  had  been  regularly  brought  up  and  in- 
structed by  her  parents ;  of  course  she  was  much  grieved 
at  my  conduct,  and  often  mildly  and  earnestly  urged  me  to 
reform.  I  could  not  but  acknowledge  the  truth  of  what  she 
said,  and  a  thousand  times  determined  to  lead  a  new  life. 
But,  sir,  who  can  change  his  own  heart  or  reform  his  con- 
duct, when  he  sets  about  it  in  his  own  strength  ?  My  old 
habits  and  companions  all  conspired  to  retain  me  in  their 
bands — I  could  not  extricate  myself,  but  plunged  again  and 
again  into  sin  and  folly. 

"  I  was  a  husband  and  a  father,  but  cared  not  for  wife 
or  child  :  I  was  always  unhappy  and  discontented,  and  when 
I  returned  home  it  was  only  to  wreak  upon  my  patient  com- 
panion those  tempers  which  were  the  consequence  of  my 
own  ill  conduct.  Oh,  sir,  are  you  at  all  acquainted  with 
the  families  of  our  mechanics  ?  If  so,  I  need  not  attempt  to 
describe  the  discord,  the  misery,  and  wretchedness  which 
so  often  troubles  them,  or  to  paint  the  consequences  which 
ensue. 

"  Thus  passed  ten  miserable  years.     I  was  an  unkind 

husband,  an  irreligious  father.     This  brief  description  at 

once  tells  you  our  wretchedness.    l  There  is  no  peace,  saith 

my  God,  to  the  wicked.5    Isaiah  57  :  21.     Infidels  may  say 
vol. in. 


£4  THE  WATCHMAKER 

what  they  please,  but  I  speak  from  bitter  experience  :  where 
the  love  of  the  Saviour  abideth  not,  there  is  wrath,  envy, 
hatred,  malice,  and  all  uncharitableness ;  in  a  word,  it  is 
hell  upon  earth.  Oh,  that  my  dear  wife  could  forget  those 
years  of  pain  and  suffering ;  the  remembrance  of  them  is  a 
burden  which  would  overwhelm  me,  did  not  I  remember 
that  the  loving  kindness  and  tender  mercy  of  the  Saviour  is 
greater  than  our  sins.  Oh,"  said  he,  taking  his  wife  by  the 
hand,  "  have  you,  can  you  forget  these  things  V 

"  My  dear,"  replied  this  excellent  woman,  "  can  your 
wife  remember  what  our  heavenly  Father  has  declared  that 
he  has  forgotten  V! 

"  What  do  I  not  owe  to  you,"  said  he.  "  Thus  it  is,  sir, 
that  she  always  supports  me ;  her  example,  and  above  all, 
her  prayers,  have  indeed  been  blessed  to  my  soul. 

"  About  three  years  ago,  1  observed  that  my  wife  had 
some  new  acquaintance ;  there  was  evidently  a  change  in 
her ;  she  appeared  more  anxious  about  religion,  and  I  found 
that  she  attended  public  worship  more  frequently.  I  spoke 
to  her  about  this  :  she  answered  by  asking  me  to  go  with 
her  some  day.  I  strove  to  find  fault  with  her,  but  her  con- 
duct, always  kind,  and  affectionate,  and  obedient,  was  now 
more  so  than  ever.  About  this  time  I  was  visited  with  a 
severe  illness,  the  consequence  of  my  excesses.  Death 
stared  me  in  the  face ;  my  sins  crowded  into  my  recollec- 
tion ;  a  horrible  dread  overwhelmed  me.  I  entreated  my 
wife  and  her  friends  to  pray  for  my  soul.  Never  shall  I 
forget  her  joy  when  she  heard  this  request.  From  that  mo- 
ment she  seemed  more  at  ease  when  talking  with  me.  She 
read  to  me  from  the  Bible,  and  often  conversed  about  serious 
things.  I  was  very  desirous  to  recover,  that  I  might  have 
time  and  opportunity  to  do  away  my  past  sins  by  more  cor- 
rect conduct  in  future ;  and  I  thought  that  if  I  did  do  so,  1 


AND  HIS  FAMILY.  X5 

should  be  sure  to  go  to  heaven.  Oh,  how  far  was  I  from 
the  knowledge  of  the  Gospel ;  but  my  heart  was  yet  too 
hard,  and  (vile  as  I  was)  too  full  of  self-righteousness  to 
submit  to  a  Saviour,  and  desire  pardon  through  him. 

"  As  I  grew  stronger,  the  natural  enmity  of  my  heart 
against  religion  was  again  manifested.  I  endeavored  to 
drive  away  these  thoughts,  and  now  became  more  averse,  to 
my  wife's  proceedings ;  and  one  day,  when  she  asked  me 
to  accompany  her  to  public  worship,  I  broke  out  into  a  fit 
of  passion,  and  declared  that  if  she  ever  said  another  word 
on  the  subject  I  would  throw  her  books  into  the  fire.  My 
poor  wife,  as  you  may  suppose,  was  much  grieved  ;  her 
only  comfort  was,  that  her  daughter  began  to  seek  the  know- 
ledge of  the  Saviour. 

"  Some  months  afterward,  one  of  my  companions  in  sin 
died.  His  end  was  dreadful,  and  I  was  struck  with  this, 
and  often  thought  upon  it.  One  day  I  was  walking  in  the 
fields,  when  a  person  passed  me,  and  put  a  little  Tract  into 
my  hand,  saying,  <  My  friend,  this  little  book  is  worth  your 
attention.'  To  my  surprise  I  found  it  contained  a  short  and 
earnest  address  upon  death  and  judgment:  it  showed  me 
the  danger  of  my  state,  and  pointed  out  the  only  remedy 
whereby  I  could  escape,  and  earnestly  called  upon  the 
reader  to  seek  this  remedy,  and  fly  to  Christ  for  the  pardon 
of  his  sins.  I  still  endeavored  to  drive  away  these  thoughts, 
but  could  not. 

"  One  evening,  as  I  wandered  abroad,  I  heard  a  person 
who  was  walking  before  me  call  to  another,  and  pointing  to 
some  people  who  were  entering  a  place  of  worship,  he  ex- 
claimed, l  There,  Tom,  are  the  godly  ones !  Have  you  a 
mind  to  go  and  be  made  a  saint?'  These  words  (I  knew 
not  why)  excited  my  curiosity  :  I  entered  the  place,  and  sat 
down  ;  the  service  had  already  begun,  and  the  minister  was 


IQ  THE  WATCHMAKER 

in  his  prayer  before  sermon.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  im- 
pression his  words  made  upon  me — they  pierced  my  heart 
and  soul ;  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  my  wretched  state, 
and  the  wrath  of  God  which  I  so  justly  deserved. 

"  I  did  not  tell  my  wife  what  was  passing  in  my  mind, 
but  waited  with  impatience  for  the  Wednesday  following, 
when  there  would  be  service  again.  As  I  entered  I  saw 
my  wife  and  daughter;  their  countenances  declared  their 
joy  at  seeing  me  there.  The  minister  who  preached  had 
chosen  for  his  text,  *  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God,  that  taketh 
away  the  sin  of  the  world.'  John  1  :  29.  The  picture 
which  he  drew  of  the  state  of  man,  lost  and  ruined  by  sin, 
and  filled  with  enmity  against  God,  seemed  as  if  intended 
for  me.  I  could  not  but  see  my  own  likeness,  and  from 
that  moment  I  felt  that  I  could  not  obtain  salvation  unless  it 
were  given  me  from  above.  I  now  was  filled  with  anxiety 
respecting  my  soul. 

"  My  wife  and  daughter  followed  me  in  silence  when 
the  service  was  over.  I  saw  they  were  afraid  to  speak  to 
me,  and  I  said  to  them,  '  I  see  you  are  afraid  of  me,  and  I 
do  not  wonder,  for  I  now  see  what  a  monster  of  iniquity  I 
am.'  At  these  words  they  endeavored  to  console  me :  my 
wife  said,  '  O,  do  not  despair ;  seek  the  Lord,  and  he  will  be 
found ;  cast  your  burthen  upon  him,  and  he  will  sustain  you. 
He  can  heal  your  soul.  Yes,  Jesus  himself  now  invites 
you  :  Oh,  do  not  hesitate,  but  cast  yourself  upon  him ;  with 
him  is  mercy  and  forgiveness.' 

"  Need  I  add  any  further  particulars  ?  The  Holy  Spirit 
has  been  pleased  to  lead  me  to  the  knowledge  of  Christ,  and 
to  show  me  what  the  Saviour  has  done  and  suffered  to  bring 
us  near  to  God.  This  now  appears  clear  to  me ;  but  the 
Holy  Spirit  alone  could  teach  me  that  Christ  has  suffered 
for  me,  the  just  for  the  unjust.  1  Peter.  3  :  18.     That  he 


AND  HIS  FAMILY.  17 

has  borne  our  sins  in  his  own  body  on  the  tree ;  and  that 
the  chastisement  of  my  iniquity  is  upon  him.  When  I  was 
thus  led  to  feel  that  he  gave  himself  for  our  sins,  Gal.  1 :  4, 
then  my  sins  became  hateful  to  me  ;  I  felt  that  they  had 
nailed  him  to  the  cross,  and  I  earnestly  desired  to  dedicate 
myself  to  his  service,  and  to  live  to  him  who  died  for  me. 

"  I  may  truly  say  that  my  experience  since  that  time 
has  been  one  of  peace  and  joy  ;  thanks  be  to  the  Lord  who 
gave  me,  in  my  dear  wife,  a  faithful  guide  and  counsellor, 
to  whom  I  could  always  resort.  We  have  not  been  without 
our  trials ;  you  know,  sir,  that  those  who  seek  to  walk  in 
the  paths  of  the  Lord  must  expect  to  meet  with  opposition 
from  the  world.  My  former  connections  have  endeavored 
to  trouble  me  as  much  as  they  could  ;  they  accuse  me  of 
hypocrisy,  and  utter  many  falsities  about  me.  Often  have 
[  been  tempted  to  say,  wherewithal  shall  we  be  clothed  and 
fed  ?  But  I  have  always  had  reason  to  take  shame  to  my- 
self for  my  unbelief;  and  the  many  mercies  I  have  expe- 
rienced prove  to  me  that  the  Lord  will  not  forsake  those 
whom  he  calls  his  own." 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  he  will  not  leave  you  ;  he  cannot  forget 
his  people  ;  he  is  faithful,  and  his  word  of  promise  standeth 
sure.  Christ  has  given  himself  for  you,  and  possessing  him 
you  have  received  all  things ;  being  heirs  of  God  and  joint- 
heirs  with  Christ."  Rom.  8:17. 

REFLECTIONS. 

"  Well,"  said  my  friend,  when  we  were  in  the  street, 
"  this  passes  all  that  I  could  have  supposed.  This,  then, 
is  one  of  those  men  who  are  called  enthusiasts,  knaves, 
hypocrites,  and  are  even  accused  of  licentious  conduct. 
Would  to  God  that  we  were  all  like  this  man !" 

Kleg-  Nar  24 


|g  THE  WATCHMAKER 

"  You  now  see,"  said  I,  "  the  mistaken  notion  the  world 
entertains  of  these  people,  and  you  now  are  aware  how 
falsely  they  are  accused :  this  is  because  the  carnal  mind 
is  enmity  against  God.  The  world  hates  them  as  it  hates 
their  Lord  and  Master." 

"  I  am  most  surprised,"  said  my  friend,  "  to  observe  the 
remarkable  fruits  of  these  doctrines.  I  have  seen  this 
man's  conduct  without  disguise,  and  I  cannot  but  judge  of 
the  excellency -of  what  he  professes  by  what  I  have  seen 
him  practise  :  I  have  been  mistaken  indeed  in  my  ideas 
about  these  people." 

"  I  trust  God  has  caused  you  to  see  your  error  ;  inquire 
for  yourself,  seek  direction  from  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  remem- 
ber that  it  is  not  a  mere  matter  of  curiosity,  but  one  of 
infinite  importance  ;  your  everlasting  happiness  or  miser} 
depends  thereon.  May  he  direct  you,  and  lead  you  to  that 
knowledge  which  alone  can  make  wise  to  salvation.  I  once 
was  as  you  have  been  till  now — an  enemy  to  the  people  of 
God.  But  he  is  rich  in  mercy  ;  he  sought  me  while  afar 
off:  he  showed  me  the  exceeding  riches  of  his  love,  and 
enabled  me  to  draw  near  to  him  with  joy  and  peace  in 
believing.  Oh,  may  this  be  your  case !  Seek  the  Lord 
while  he  may  be  found ;  call  upon  him  while  he  is  near ; 
lay  hold  upon  the  hope  set  before  you.  Forget  not  what 
you  have  seen  and  heard  to-day.  Adieu  !  To-morrow 
morning  we  will  call  again  upon  our  poor  watchmaker." 

BETTER    DAYS. 

"  See  how  they  love  one  another."  This  was  said  of 
the  first  Christians.  That  divine  love  which  cometh  from 
above  will  ever  shine  with  brightness  in  the  children  of  God. 
It  is  the  sure  mark  and  seal  whereby  they  are  known  among 


AND  HIS  FAMILY-  jg 

aien ;  the  Spirit  of  God  has  impressed  this  upon  them. 
Blessed  is  the  man  who  has  tasted  of  the  Saviour's  love  ; 
happy  is  the  family  where  it  is  the  bond  of  union. 

It  was  exemplified  in  the  poor  watchmaker  and  his 
family  ;  there  all  was  love,  peace,  and  union,  regulating  all 
their  proceedings  and  influencing  each  individual.  1  never 
saw  in  any  family  such  patience  and  kind  attention  from 
parents  to  children,  nor  did  I  ever  see  equal  respect,  sub- 
mission, ready  obedience,  and  docility,  from  children  to 
parents.  The  love  of  God  enlivened  their  hearts,  and  the 
influence  of  his  Holy  Spirit  produced  these  effects. 

When  we  entered  his  room,  we  found  the  watchmaker 
engaged  in  instructing  a  young  man  in  one  of  the  more 
difficult  operations  of  his  business ;  on  inquiry  we  found  he 
was  a  poor  orphan,  the  son  of  a  pious  friend  lately  deceased, 
who  had  literally  left  his  child  to  the  care  of  Providence ; 
and  He  who  careth  for  the  fatherless  had  inclined  the  heart 
of  this  poor  man  to  take  the  lad,  and  to  share  his  scanty 
pittance  with  him,  feeding  his  soul  at  the  same  time  with 
the  bread  of  life ;  for  those  whose  situation  would  seem  to 
render  them  unable  to  assist  others,  often  engage  in  acts  of 
charity  which  should  put  many  a  more  wealthy  professor  to 
the  blush. 

After  a  short  conversation,  "  My  friend,"  said  I,  "  how 
are  you  off  for  work  ?  could  you  finish  some  watches  for 
me?" 

My  inquiry  struck  him  with  surprise  ;  tears  stood  in  his 
eyes  :  he  clasped  his  hands  and  exclaimed,  "  Sir,  God  has 
sent  you  to  us  ;  I  am  quite  out  of  work." 

"  So  I  understood  ;  I  was  told  your  employer  had  dis- 
missed you  because  you  would  not  work  on  the  Sabbath." 

"  'Tis  too  true  :  alas !  sir,  he  knows  no  better — I  myself 
once  did  the  same  to  a  polisher.     God  would  have  us  all 


20  THE  WATCHMAKER  AND  HIS  FAMILY. 

kindly  compassionate  one  to  another.  He  alone  can  incline 
our  hearts  to  keep  his  law." 

"  Worthy  man,"  said  my  companion,  seizing  his  hand, 
"  I  trust  I  have  received  good  to  my  soul  from  what  I  have 
eard  and  seen  of  you." 

"  How  can  this  be  ?" 

"  He  was,"  said  I,  "  wise  and  righteous  in  his  own  eyes; 
now  he  begins  to  see  his  own  state,  and  his  need  of  a  Sav- 
iour, and  perceives  the  false  notions  he  entertained  of  the 
people  of  God." 

"  May  God,  of  his  infinite  mercy,  bless  you,"  said  the 
poor  watchmaker ;  "  may  the  seed  take  deep  root  downward, 
and  bring  forth  much  fruit  upward ;  his  ways  are  ways  of 
pleasantness,  and  all  his  paths  are  peace." 

It  is  now  time  to  finish  my  narrative,  and  may  the  truths 
set  forth  in  this  Tract  be  impressed  upon  your  heart  and 
mine,  my  dear  reader.  Remember  that  "  the  Lord  is  nigh 
unto  all  them  that  call  upon  him,  to  all  that  call  upon  him 
in  truth.  He  will  fulfil  the  desire  of  them  that  fear  him: 
he  also  will  hear  their  cry,  and  will  save  them." 


NARRATIVE  XII. 


THE  LIFE  OF  COL.  JAMES  GARDINER. 


Col.  James  Gardiner  was  the  son  of  Captain  Patrick 
Gardiner,  who  served  many  years  in  the  armies  of  king 
William  and  queen  Anne,  and  died  abroad  with  the  British 
forces  in  Germany. 

The  colonel's  mother  was  a  lady  of  very  excellent 
character,  but  it  pleased  God  to  exercise  her  with  uncom- 
mon trials  ;  for  she  lost  not  only  her  husband  and  her  brother 
in  the  service  of  their  country,  but  also  her  eldest  son,  Mr. 
R.  Gardiner,  on  "the  day  which  completed  his  16th  year,  at 
the  siege  of  Namur,  in  1695.  But  God  blessed  these  afflic- 
tions  as  the  means  of  her  attaining  an  eminent  degree  of 

piety- 


2  LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER. 

The  second  son,  the  subject  of  this  memoir,  was  born  in 
Linlithgowshire,  January  10,  1687-8  :  the  memorable  year 
of  the  Revolution,  in  defence  of  which  his  own  life  was 
eventually  sacrificed. 

In  early  life,  his  mother  took  care  to  instruct  him  with 
great  tenderness  and  affection  in  the  principles  of  true  Chris- 
tianity. While  at  the  school  of  Linlithgow,  he  made  a  con- 
siderable progress  in  literature. 

In  the  younger  part  of  his  life,  the  good  effects  of  his 
mother's  prudent  and  exemplary  care  were  not  so  conspicu- 
ous as  sne  hoped ;  yet  there  is  great  reason  to  believe  they 
were  not  entirely  lost.  Could  she  have  prevailed,  he  would 
not  have  thought  of  a  military  life  :  but  it  suited  his  taste  ; 
and  the  ardor  of  his  spirit,  animated  by  the  persuasions  of 
a  friend  who  greatly  urged  it,  was  not  to  be  restrained.  Nor 
will  the  reader  wonder  at  this,  when  he  knows  that  this  lively 
youth  fought  three  duels  before  he  had  attained  the  full 
stature  of  a  man ;  in  one  of  which  he  received  a  wound  in 
his  right  cheek,  the  scar  of  which  was  always  very  appar- 
ent. This  false  sense  of  honor  some  might  think  excusa- 
ble in  those  unripened  years,  and  considering  the  profession 
of  his  father ;  but  he  often  mentioned  it  with  regret.  And 
after  his  conversion,  he  declined  accepting  a  challenge  with 
this  truly  great  reply,  which,  in  a  man  of  his  experienced 
bravery,  was  exceedingly  graceful :  "  I  fear  sinning,"  said 
ne,  "  though  you  know  I  do  not  fear  fighting." 

He  served  as  a  cadet  very  early ;  and  at  the  age  of  four- 
teen, bore  an  ensign's  commission  in  a  Scotch  regiment  in 
the  Dutch  service ;  in  which  he  continued  till  1702,  when 
he  received  an  ensign's  commission  from  Queen  Anne, 
which  he  bore  in  the  battle  of  Ramilies,  in  his  nineteenth 
year. 

On  this  occasion  our  young  officer  was  commanded  on 
what  seemed  almost  a  desperate  service — to  dispossess  the 


LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER. 


French  of  the  churchyard  at  Ramilies,  where  a  considera- 
ble number  of  them  were  posted  to  remarkable  advantage. 
They  succeeded  better  than  was  expected,  and  he  was  glad 
of  such  an  opportunity  of  signalizing  himself.  Accordingly, 
he  had  planted  his  colors  on  an  advanced  ground,  and  while 
he  was  calling  to  the  men — probably  in  that  horrid  language 
which  is  so  often  a  disgrace  to  our  soldiery — he  received  a 
shot  in  his  mouth,  which,  without  beating  out  any  of  his 
teeth,  or  touching  the  forepart  of  his  tongue,  went  through 
his  neck.  Not  feeling  at  first  the  pain  of  the  stroke,  he 
wondered  what  was  become  of  the  ball,  and  in  the  wildness 
of  his  surprise  began  to  suspect  he  had  swallowed  it ;  but, 
dropping  soon  after,  he  traced  the  passage  of  it  by  his  finger, 
when  he  could  discover  it  no  other  way. 

This  occurrence  happened  about  five  or  six  o'clock  in 
the  evening  of  May  23,  1706  ;  and  the  army  pursuing  its 
advantages  against  the  French,  without  regarding  the  wound- 
ed, our  young  officer  lay  all  night  in  the  field,  agitated,  as 
may  well  be  supposed,  with  a  great  variety  of  thoughts. 
When  he  reflected  upon  the  circumstances  of  his  wound, 
that  a  ball  should,  as  he  then  conceived  it,  go  through  his 
head  without  killing  him,  he  thought  God  had  preserved  him 
by  a  miracle ;  and  therefore  assuredly  concluded  that  he 
should  live,  abandoned  and  desperate  as  his  condition  then 
seemed.  Yet  had  he  little  thoughts  of  humbling  himself 
before  God,  and  returning  to  him  after  the  wanderings  of  a 
life  so  licentiously  begun.  But  hoping  he  should  recover, 
his  mind  was  taken  up  with  contrivances  to  secure  his  gold, 
of  which  he  had  nearly  twenty  pistoles  about  him,  and  he 
had  recourse  to  a  very  odd  expedient.  Expecting  to  be 
stripped,  he  took  out  a  handful  of  clotted  gore,  of  which  he 
was  frequently  obliged  to  clear  his  mouth ;  and  putting  it 
into  his  left  hand,  he  took  out  his  money,  and  shutting  his 
hand,  besmeared  the  back  of  it  with  his  blood :  in  this  po- 


4  LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER. 

sition  he  kept  it,  till  the  blood  so  dried,  that  his  hand  could 
not  easily  fall  open. 

In  the  morning,  the  French,  who  were  masters  of  that 
spot,  though  defeated  at  some  distance,  came  to  plunder  the 
slain  ;  and  seeing  him  to  appearance- almost  expiring,  one  of 
them  was  just  applying  a  sword  to  his  breast,  to  destroy  the 
little  remainder  of  life,  when,  in  the  critical  moment,'  a  cor- 
delier,  who  attended  them,  interposed,  taking  him  by  his 
dress  for  a  Frenchman,  and  said,  "  Do  not  kill  the  poor 
child."  Our  young  soldier  heard  all  that  passed,  though 
he  was  not  able  to  speak  one  word  ;  and  opening  his  eyes, 
made  a  sign  for  something  to  drink.  They  gave  him  a  sup 
of  some  spirituous  liquor,  which  happened  to  be  at  hand  ; 
from  which  he  said  he  derived  a  more  sensible  refreshment 
than  he  could  remember  from  any  thing  he  had  tasted,  either 
before  or  since.  Then  asking,  by  signs,  the  friar  to  lean 
down  his  ear  to  his  mouth,  he  employed  the  first  efforts  of 
his  feeble  breath  in  telling  him — what,  alas,  was  a  contrived 
falsehood — that  he  was  nephew  to  the  governor  of  Huy,  a 
neutral  town  in  the  neighborhood,  and  that,  if  they  could 
convey  him  thither,  he  did  not  doubt  but  his  uncle  would 
liberally  reward  them.  He  had  indeed  a  friend  there,  but 
the  relationship  was  pretended.  However,  on  hearing  this, 
they  laid  him  on  a  sort  of  hand-barrow,  and  sent  him  with 
a  file  of  musqueteers  towards  the  place  ;  but  the  men  lost 
their  way,  and  got  into  a  wood  towards  the  evening,  in  which 
they  were  obliged  to  continue  all  night.  The  poor  patient's 
wound  being  still  undressed,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that 
by  this  time  it  raged  violently.  The  anguish  of  it  engaged 
him  earnestly  to  beg  that  they  would  either  kill  him  cut- 
right,  or  leave  him  there  to  die,  without  the  torture  of  any 
other  motion ;  and  indeed  they  were  obliged  to  rest  for  a 
considerable  time,  on  account  of  their  own  weariness.  Thus 
he  spent  the  second  night  in  the  open  air,  without  any  thing 


LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER.  5 

more  than  a  common  bandage  to  stanch  the  blood,  and  he 
often  mentioned  it  as  a  most  astonishing  providence,  that  he 
did  not  bleed  to  death. 

Judging  it  quite  unsafe  to  attempt  carrying  him  to  Huy, 
wnence  .they  were  now  several  miles  distant,  his  convoy 
took  him  early  in  the  morning  to  a  convent  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, where  he  was  hospitably  received,  and  treated  with 
£reat  kindness  and  tenderness.  But  the  cure  of  his  wound 
was  committed  to  an  ignorant  barber-surgeon,  who  lived 
near  the  house.  The  tent  which  this  artist  applied,  was  al- 
most like  a  peg  driven  in  the  wound ;  yet,  by  the  blessing 
of  God,  he  recovered  in  a  few  months.  The  lady-abbess, 
who  called  him  her  son,  treated  him  with  the  affection  and 
care  of  a  mother.  He  received  a  great  many  devout  admo- 
nitions from  the  ladies  there,  and  they  would  fain  have  per- 
suaded him  to  acknowledge  so  miraculous  a  deliverance,  by 
embracing  the  Catholic  faith,  as  they  were  pleased  to  call 
it,  But,  though  no  religion  lay  near  his  heart,  he  had  too 
much  the  spirit  of  a  gentleman,  lightly  to  change  that  form 
of  religion  which  he  wore  loose  about  him,  as  well  as  too 
much  good  sense  to  swallow  the  absurdities  of  popery. 

When  his  liberty  was  regained  by  an  exchange  of  pris- 
oners, and  his  health  established,  he  was  far  from  render- 
ing to  the  Lord  according  to  the  mercy  he  had  experienced. 
Very  little  is  known  of  the  particulars  of  those  wild  and 
thoughtless  years  which  lay  between  the  nineteenth  and 
thirtieth  of  his  life ;  except,  that  he  experienced  the  divine 
goodness  in  preserving  him  in  several  hot  military  actions , 
and  yet  these  years  were  spent  in  an  entire  alienation  from 
God,  and  an  eager  pursuit  of  sensual  pleasure  as  his  su- 
preme good. 

Amidst  all  these  wanderings  from  religion,  virtue,  and 
happiness,  he  approved  himself  so  well  in  his  military  char- 
acter, that  he  was  made  a  lieutenant  in  1708  ;   and,   after 

1 6* 


(j  LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER. 

several  immediate  promotions,  appointed  major  of  a  regiment 
commanded  by  the  Earl  of  Stair.  In  January,  1729-30,  he 
was  advanced  to  the  rank  of  lieutenant-colonel  in  the  same 
regiment;  and  here  continued  till  April,  1743,  when  he  re- 
ceived a  colonel's  commission  over  a  regiment  of  dragoons, 
at  the  head  of  which  he  valiantly  fell,  about  two  years  and 
a  half  after  he  received  it. 

We  now  return  to  that  period  of  his  life  which  passed  at 
Paris,  where  he  resided  in  the  family  of  the  Earl  of  Stair, 
with  some  interruptions,  till  about  the  year  1720. 

The  Earl's  favor  and  generosity  made  him  easy  in  his 
affairs,  though  he  was  part  of  the  time  out  of  commission, 
the  regiment  to  which  he  belonged  being  disbanded.  This 
was,  in  all  probability,  the  gayest  part  of  his  life,  and  the 
most  criminal.  Whatever  good  examples  he  might  find  in 
the  family  where  he  lived,  it  is  certain  that  the  French  court 
was  one  of  the  most  dissolute  under  heaven.  What,  by 
a  wretched  abuse  of  language,  have  been  called  intrigues 
of  love  and  gallantry,  constituted,  if  not  the  whole  business, 
at  least  the  whole  happiness  of  his  life ;  and  his  fine  consti- 
tution, than  which,  perhaps,  there  was  hardly  ever  a  better, 
gave  him  great  opportunities  of  indulging  himself  in  those 
excesses ;  while  his  good  spirits  enabled  him  to  pursue  his 
pleasures  in  such  a  manner  that  multitudes  envied  him,  and 
called  him,  by  a  dreadful  kind  of  compliment,  "The  Happy 
Rake." 

Yet  the  checks  of  conscience,  and  some  remaining  prin- 
ciples of  a  good  education,  would  break  in  upon  the  most 
licentious  hours ;  and  when  some  of  his  dissolute  compan- 
ions were  once  congratulating  him  upon  his  felicity,  a  dog 
happening  at  that  time  to  come  into  the  room,  he  could  not 
forbear  groaning  inwardly,  and  saying  to  himself,  "  Oh 
that  I  were  that  dog !"  Such  was  then  his  happiness,  and 
such,  perhaps,  is  that  of  hundreds  more,  who  bear  them- 


LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER.  7 

selves  highest  in  the  contempt  of  religion,  and  glory  in  that 
infamous  servitude  which  they  affect  to  call  liberty. 

Yet  in  the  most  abandoned  days  he  was  never  fond  of 
intemperate  drinking,  from  which  he  used  to  think  a  manly 
pride  might  be  sufficient  to  preserve  persons  of  sense  and 
spirit ;  so  that,  if  he  ever  fell  into  any  excesses  of  that  kind, 
it  was  merely  out  of  complaisance.  His  frank,  obliging,  and 
generous  temper,  procured  him  many  friends ;  and  those 
principles  which  rendered  him  amiable  to  others,  not  being 
under  the  direction  of  wisdom  and  piety,  sometimes  made 
him  more  uneasy  to  himself  than  he  perhaps  might  have 
been,  if  he  could  entirely  have  outgrown  them ;  especially 
as  he  was  never  a  sceptic  in  his  heart,  but  still  retained  a 
secret  apprehension,  that  natural  and  revealed  religion  was 
founded  in  truth.  With  this  conviction,  his  notorious  viola- 
tions of  the  most  essential  precepts  of  both,  could  not  but 
occasion  some  secret  misgivings  of  heart.  His  continual 
neglect  of  the  great  Author  of  his  being,  of  whose  perfections 
he  could  not  doubt,  and  to  whom  he  knew  himself  to  be  un- 
der daily  and  perpetual  obligations,  gave  him,  in  some  mo- 
ments of  involuntary  reflection,  inexpressible  remorse ;  and 
this,  at  times,  wrought  upon  him  to  such  a  degree,  that  he 
resolved  he  would  attempt  to  make  some  pious  acknowledg- 
ments. Accordingly,  for  a  few  mornings  he  did  it,  repeat- 
ing, in  retirement,  some  passages  out  of  the  Psalms,  and 
other  Scriptures,  which  he  still  retained  in  his  memory ; 
and  owning,  in  a  few  strong  words,  the  many  mercies  and 
deliverances  he  had  received,  and  the  ill  returns  he  had 
made  for  them. 

But  these  strains  were  too  devout  to  continue  long,  in  a 
heart  as  yet  unsanctified ;  for  how  readily  soever  he  could 
repeat  such  acknowledgments  of  the  divine  power  and  good- 
ness, and  confess  his  own  follies  and  faults,  he  was  stopped 
short  by  the  remonstrances  of  his  conscience,  as  to  the  fla- 


8  LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER. 

grant  absurdity  of  confessing  sins  he  did  not  desire  to  for- 
sake, and  of  pretending  to  praise  God  for  his  mercies,  when 
he  did  not  endeavor  to  live  in  his  service.  A  model  of  de- 
votion, where  such  sentiments  made  no  part,  his  good  sense 
could  not  digest;  and  the  use  of  such  language  before  a 
heart-searching  God,  merely  as  a  hypocritical  form,  while 
the  sentiments  of  his  soul  were  contrary  to  it,  appeared  to 
him  such  daring  profaneness,  that,  irregular  as  the  state  of 
his  mind  was,  the  thought  of  it  struck  him  with  horror.  He, 
therefore,  determined  to  make  no  more  attempts  of  this  sort ; 
and  was  perhaps  one  of  the  first  that  deliberately  laid  aside 
prayer,  from'  some  sense  of  God's  omniscience,  and  some 
natural  principle  of  honor  and  conscience. 

These  secret  debates  with  himself,  and  ineffectual  efForts, 
would  sometimes  return ;  but  they  were  overborne,  again  and 
again,  by  the  force  of  temptation ;  and  it  is  no  wonder  that 
in  consequence  of  them  his  heart  grew  still  harder.  Neither 
was  it  softened  or  awakened  by  the  very  memorable  de- 
liverances which  at  this  time  he  received.  Once  he  was  in 
extreme  danger  from  a  fall  from  his  horse.  While  riding 
fast  down  a  hill,  he  was  thrown  over  the  horse's  head,  and 
the  horse  pitched  over  him ;  so  that  when  he  rose,  the  beast, 
lay  beyond  him,  and  almost  dead.  Yet,  though  he  received 
not  the  least  harm,  it  made  no  serious  impression  on  his 
mind.  In  his  return  from  England  in  the  packet-boat,  but 
a  few  weeks  after  the  former  accident,  a  violent  storm,  that 
drove  them  up  to  Harwich,  tossed  them  from  thence  for  sev- 
eral hours,  in  a  dark  night,  on  the  coast  of  Holland ;  and 
brought  them  into  such  extremity,  that  the  captain  of  the 
vessel  urged  him  to  go  to  prayers  immediately,  if  he  ever 
intended  to  do  it  at  all ;  for  he  concluded  they  would  in  a 
few  minutes  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  In  these  circum- 
stances he  did  pray,  and  that  very  fervently  too ;  and  it  was 
remarkable,  that  while  he  was  crying  to  God  for  deliver- 


LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER.  9 

ance,  the  wind  fell,  and  quickly  after,  they  arrived  at  Calais. 
But  he  was  so  little  affected  with  what  had  befallen  him, 
that,  when  some  of  his  gay  friends,  on  hearing  the  story, 
rallied  him  upon  the  efficacy  of  his  prayers,  he  excused 
himself  from  the  scandal  of  being  thought  much  in  earnest, 
by  saying,  "  that  it  was  at  midnight,  an  hour  when  his  good 
mother  and  aunt  were  asleep,  or  else  he  should  have  left 
that  part  of  the  business  to  them." 

We  now  come  to  the  account  of  his  conversion.  This 
memorable  event  happened  towards  the  middle  of  July, 
1719.  He  had  spent  the  evening,  which  was  the  Sabbath, 
in  some  gay  company,  and  had  an  unhappy  assignation  with 
a  married  lady,  whom  he  was  to  attend  exactly  at  twelve. 
The  company  broke  up  about  eleven ;  and  he  went  into  his 
chamber  to  kill  the  tedious  hour.  It  happened  that  he  took 
up  a  religious  book,  which  his  good  mother  or  aunt  had, 
without  his  knowledge,  slipped  into  his  portmanteau,  called 
"  The  Christian  Soldier,  or  Heaven  taken  by  Storm;"  writ- 
ten by  Mr.  Thomas  Watson.  Guessing,  by  the  title,  that 
he  should  find  some  phrases  of  his  own  profession  spiritual- 
ized, in  a  manner  which  might  afford  him  some  diversion, 
he  resolved  to  dip  into  it ;  but  took  no  serious  notice  of  any 
thing  he  read :  and  yet,  while  this  book  was  in  his  hand,  an 
impression  was  made  upon  his  mind — perhaps  God  only 
knows  how — which  drew  after  it  a  train  of  the  most  impor- 
tant and  happy  consequences. 

Suddenly  he  thought  he  saw  an  unusual  blaze  of  light 
fall  on  the  book  while  he  was  reading,  which  he  at  first 
imagined  might  have  happened  by  some  accident  in  the 
candle.  But  lifting  up  his  eyes,  he  apprehended,  to  his  ex- 
treme amazement,  that  there  was  before  him,  as  it  were 
suspended  in  the  air,  a  visible  representation  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  upon  the  cross,  surrounded  with  a  glory; 
and  was  impressed  as  if  a  voice,  or  something  equivalent  to 

Eleff.  Nar.  25 


10  UFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER. 

a  voice,  had  come  to  him,  to  this  effect :  "  O  sinner,  did  1 
suffer  this  for  thee,  and  are  these  the  returns  ?"  But  whether 
this  were  an  audible  voice,  or  only  a  strong  impression  on 
his  mind,  equally  striking,  he  did  not  seem  confident,  though 
he  judged  it  to  be  the  former.  Struck  with  so  amazing  a 
phenomenon,  there  remained  hardly  any  life  in  him,  so  that 
he  sunk  down  in  the  arm-chair  in  which  he  sat,  and  con- 
tinued, he  knew  not  exactly  how  long,  insensible  ;  and  when 
he  opened  his  eyes,  saw  nothing  more  than  usual. 

It  may  be  easily  supposed  that  he  was  in  no  condition 
to  make  any  observation  upon  the  time  in  which  he  had 
remained  insensible  ;  nor  did  he,  throughout  all  the  remain- 
der of  the  night,  once  recollect  that  criminal  assignation 
which  had  before  engrossed  all  his  thoughts.  He  arose,  in 
a  tumult  of  passions  not  to  be  conceived,  and  walked  to  and 
fro  in  his  chamber  till  he  was  ready  to  drop  down,  in  unut- 
terable astonishment  and  agony  of  heart ;  appearing  to  him- 
self  the  vilest  monster  in  the  creation  of  God,  who  had.  all 
his  lifetime  been  crucifying  Christ  afresh  by  his  sins,  and 
now  saw,  as  he  assuredly  believed,  tyy  a  miraculous  vision, 
the  horror  of  what  he  had  done.  With  this  was  connected 
such  a  view,  both  of  the  majesty  and  goodness  of  God,  as 
caused  him  to  loathe  and  abhor  himself,  and  to  "  repent  as 
in  dust  and  ashes."  He  immediately  gave  judgment  against 
himself,  that  he  was  worthy  of  eternal  damnation ;  was  as- 
tonished that  he  was  not  immediately  struck  dead  in  the 
midst  of  his  wickedness;  and — which  deserves  particular 
remark — though  he  assuredly  believed  that  he  should  ere 
long  be  in  hell,  and  settled  it  as  a  point  with  himself,  for 
some  months,  that  the  wisdom  and  justice  of  God  did  most 
necessarily  require  that  such  an  enormous  sinner  should  be 
made  an  example  of  everlasting  vengeance,  and  a  spectacle 
as  such  both  to  angels  and  men,  so  that  he  hardly  durst  pre- 
sume to  pray  for  pardon  ;  yet,  what  he  then  suffered  was 


LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER.  H 

not  so  much  from  the  fear  of  hell,  though  he  concluded  it 
must  soon  be  his  portion,  as  from  a  sense  of  the  horrible 
ingratitude  he  had  shown  to  the  God  of  his  life,  and  to  that 
blessed  Redeemer  who  had  been  in  so  affecting  a  manner 
set  forth  as  crucified  before  him. 

In  this  view,  it  may  naturally  be  inferred  that  he  passed 
the  remainder  of  the  night  waking ;  and  he  could  get  but 
little  rest  in  several  that  followed.  His  mind  was  contin- 
ually taken  up  in  reflecting  on  the  divine  purity  and  good- 
ness ;  the  grace  which  had  been  proposed  to  him  in  the 
Gospel,  and  which  he  had  rejected  ;  the  singular  advantages 
he  had  enjoyed  and  abused ;  and  the  many  favors  of  Provi- 
dence he  had  received,  particularly  in  rescuing  him  from  so 
many  imminent  dangers  of  death,  which  he  now  saw  must 
have  been  attended  with  such  dreadful  and  hopeless  destruc- 
tion.  The  privileges  of  his  education,  which  he  had  so 
much  despised,  lay  with  an  almost  insupportable  weight  on 
his  mind ;  and  the  folly  of  that  career  of  sinful  pleasure, 
which  he  had  so  many  years  been  running  with  desperate 
eagerness,  filled  him  with  indignation  against  himself,  and 
against  the  great  deceiver,  by  whom — to  use  his  own  phrase 
■ — he  had  been  so  "  wretchedly  and  scandalously  befooled." 

The  mind  of  Col.  Gardiner  continued  from  this  remark- 
able time,  rather  more  than  three  months,  but  especially 
the  first  two  of  them,  in  a  very  extraordinary  state.  He 
knew  nothing  of  the  joys  arising  from  a  sense  of  pardon ; 
but,  on  the  contrary,  for  the  greater  part  of  that  time,  and 
with  very  short  intervals  of  hope  towards  the  end  of  it,  took 
it  for  granted  that  he  must  in  all  probability  quickly  perish. 
Nevertheless,  he  had  such  a  sense  of  the  evil  of  sin,  the 
goodness  of  the  Divine  Being,  and  of  the  admirable  tend- 
ency of  the  Christian  revelation,  that  he  resolved  to  spend 
the  remainder  of  his  life,  while  God  continued  him  out  of 
hell,  in  as  rational  and  useful  a  manner  as  he  could ;  and 


12  ^IFfi  OF  COL.  GARDINER. 

to  continue  casting  himself  at  the  feet  of  Divine  Mercy 
every  day,  and  often  in  a  day,  if  peradventure  there  might 
be  hope  of  pardon,  of  which  all  that  he  could  say  was,  that 
he  did  not  absolutely  despair. 

He  had  at  that  time  such  a  sense  of  the  degeneracy  of 
his  own  heart  that  he  hardly  durst  form  any  determinate 
resolution  against  sin,  or  pretend  to  engage  himself  by  any 
vow,  in  the  presence  of  God ;  but  was  continually  crying 
to  him,  that  he  would  deliver  him  from  the  bondage  of  cor- 
ruption. He  perceived  in  himself  a  most  surprising  alter- 
ation with  regard  to  the  dispositions  of  his  heart ;  so  that, 
though  he  felt  little  of  the  delight  of  religious  duties,  he 
extremely  desired  opportunities  of  being  engaged  in  them : 
and  those  licentious  pleasures  which  had  before  been  his 
heaven,  were  now  absolutely  his  aversion,  and  he  was 
grieved  to  see  human  nature,  even  in  those  to  whom  he  was 
a  stranger,  prostituted  to  such  low  and  contemptible  pursuits. 
He  therefore  exerted  his  natural  courage  in  a  new  kind  of 
combat,  and  became  an  open  advocate  for  religion,  in  all  its 
principles,  so  far  as  he  was  acquainted  with  them,  and  all 
its  precepts,  relating  to  sobriety,  righteousness,  and  godli- 
ness. Yet  he  was  very  desirous  and  cautious  that  he  might 
not  run  into  an  extreme ;  and  made  it  one  of  his  first  peti- 
tions to  God,  the  very  day  after  these  amazing  impressions 
had  been  wrought  in  his  mind,  that  he  might  not  be  suffered 
to  behave  with  such  an  affected  strictness  and  preciseness 
as  would  lead  others  about  him  into  mistaken  notions  of 
religion,  and  expose  it  to  reproach  or  suspicion,  as  if  it  were 
an  unlovely  or  uncomfortable  thing.  For  this  reason,  he 
endeavored  to  appear  as  cheerful  in  conversation,  as  he  con- 
scientiously could ;  though,  in  spite  of  all  his  precautions, 
some  traces  of  that  deep,  inward  sense  which  he  had  of  his 
guilt  and  misery  would  at  times  appear. 

He  made  no  secret  of  it,  however,  that  his  views  were 


LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER.  13 

entirely  changed,  though  he  concealed  the  particular  cir- 
cumstance attending  that  change.  He  told  his  most  inti- 
mate companions  freely,  that  he  had  reflected  on  the  course 
of  life  in  which  he  had  so  long  joined  them,  and  found  it 
to  be  folly  and  madness,  unworthy  a  rational  creature,  and 
much  more  unworthy  persons  calling  themselves  Christians. 
And  he  set  up  his  standard,  upon  all  occasions,  against  infi- 
delity and  vice,  as  determinately  as  ever  he  planted  his  col- 
ors in  the  field.  There  was  at  that  time  in  Paris  a  certain 
lady  who  had  imbibed  the  principles  of  deism,  and  valued 
herself  much  upon  being  an  avowed  advocate  for  them. 
Col.  Gardiner,  with  his  usual  frankness,  though  with  that 
politeness  which  was  habitual  to  him,  answered  like  a  man 
who  perfectly  saw  through  the  fallacy  of  her  arguments, 
and  was  grieved  to  the  heart  for  her  delusion.  On  this,  she 
challenged  him  to  debate  the  matter  at  large,  and  to  fix  upon 
a  day  for  that  purpose,  when  he  should  dine  with  her,  attend- 
ed with  any  clergyman  he  might  choose.  A  sense  of  duty 
would  not  allow  him  to  decline  this  challenge ;  and  yet  he 
had  no  sooner  accepted  it,  than  he  was  thrown  into  great 
perplexity  and  distress,  lest,  being  only  a  Christian  of  six 
weeks  old,  he  should  prejudice  so  good  a  cause  by  his  un- 
skilful manner  of  defending  it.  However,  he  sought  his  ref- 
uge in  earnest  and  repeated  prayers  to  God,  that  he  would 
graciously  enable  him,  on  this  occasion,  to  vindicate  his 
truths  in  a  manner  which  might  carry  conviction  along  with 
it.  He  then  endeavored  to  marshal  the  arguments  in  his 
own  mind  as  well  as  he  could ;  and  apprehending  that  he 
could  not  speak  with  so  much  freedom  before  a  number  of 
persons,  especially  before  those  whose  province  he  might  in 
that  case  seem  to  invade,  he  waited  on  the  lady  alone  upon 
the  day  appointed. 

He  opened  the  conference  with  a  view  of  such  arguments 

of  the  Christian  religion  as  he  had  digested  in  his  own  mind, 

25* 


I  4  LLFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER. 

to  prove  that  the  apostles  were  not  mistaken  themselves,  and 
that  they  could  not  have  intended  to  impose  upon  us,  in  the 
accounts  they  give  of  the  grand  .facts  they  attest ;  with  the 
truth  of  which  facts  that  of  the  Christian  religion  is  most 
apparently  connected.  And  it  was  a  great  encouragement 
to  him  to  find  that,  unaccustomed  as  he  was  to  discourses 
of  this  nature,  he  had  an  unusual  command  both  of  thought 
and  expression  ;  so  that  he  recollected  and  uttered  every 
thing  as  he  could  have  wished.  The  lady  heard  with  atten- 
tion,  till  he  had  finished  his  design  and  waited  for  her  reply. 
She  then  produced  some  of  her  objections,  which  he  can- 
vassed  in  such  a  manner,  that  at  length  she  burst  into  tears., 
allowed  the  force  of  his  arguments  and  replies,  and  appeared, 
for  some  time  after,  so  deeply  impressed  with  the  conversa- 
tion, that  it  was  observed  by  several  of  her  friends ;  and 
there  is  reason  to  believe  that  the  impression  continued,  at 
least  so  far  as  to  prevent  her  from  ever  appearing  under  the 
character  of  an  unbeliever  or  a  sceptic. 

This  is  only  one  among  many  of  the  battles  he  was 
almost  daily  called  out  to  fight  in  the  cause  of  religion  and 
virtue.  The  continual  railleries  with  which  he  was  received, 
in  almost  all  companies  where  he  had  been  most  familiar 
before,  often  distressed  him  beyond  measure  ;  so  that  he  de- 
clared, he  would  much  rather  have  marched  up  to  a  battery 
of  the  enemy's  cannon,  than  have  been  obliged,  so  continu- 
ally as  he  was,  to  face  such  artillery  as  this.  But,  like  a 
brave  soldier  in  the  first  action  wherein  he  is  engaged,  he 
continued  resolute,  though  shuddering  at  the  terror  of  the 
assault,  and  quickly  overcame  those  impressions  which  it  is 
not,  perhaps,  in  nature  wholly  to  avoid.  In  a  word,  he  went 
on,  as  every  Christian  by  divine  grace  may  do,  till  he  turned 
ridicule  and  opposition  into  respect  and  veneration. 

Within  about  two  months  after  his  first  memorable 
change,  he  began  to  perceive  some  secret  dawnings  of  more 


LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER.  15 

cheerful  hope,  that,  vile  as  he  then  saw  himself  to  be,  he 
might  nevertheless  obtain  mercy  through  a  Redeemer  \  and 
at  length,  about  the  end  of  October,  1719,  he  found  all  the 
burden  of  his  mind  taken  off  at  once  by  the  powerful  im- 
pression of  that  memorable  scripture  upon  his  mind,  Rom. 
3  :  25,  26 :  "  Whom  God  hath  set  forth  for  a  propitiation, 
through  faith  in  his  blood,  to  declare  his  righteousness  for 
the  remission  of  sins — that  he  might  be  just,  and  the  justifier 
of  him  that  believeth  in  Jesus."  He  had  used  to  imagine, 
that  the  justice  of  God  required  the  damnation  of  so  enor- 
mous a  sinner  as  he  saw  himself  to  be ;  but  now  he  was 
made  deeply  sensible  that  the  divine  justice  might  be  not 
only  vindicated,  but  glorified,  in  saving  him  by  the  blood  of 
Jesus,  even  that  blood  which  cleanseth  from  all  sin.  He 
was  led  to  see  and  feel  the  riches  of  redeeming  love  and 
grace,  in  such  a  manner  as  not  only  engaged  him,  with  the 
•utmost  pleasure  and  confidence,  to  venture  his  soul  upon 
them,  but  even  swallowed  up,  as  it  were,  his  whole  heart  in 
the  returns  of  love,  which,  from  that  blessed  time,  became 
the  genuine  and  delightful  principle  of  obedience,  and  ani- 
mated  him  with  an  enlarged  heart  to  run  the  ways  of  God's 
commandments. 

Thus  God  was  pleased — as  he  himself  used  to  speak — in 
an  hour  to  turn  his  captivity.  All  the  terrors  of  his  former 
state  were  turned  into  unutterable  joy.  And  though  the 
first  ecstasies  of  it  afterwards  subsided  into  a  more  calm  and 
composed  delight,  yet  were  the  impressions  so  deep  and  so 
permanent,  that  he  declared,  on  the  word  of  a  Christian, 
wonderful  as  it  might  seem,  that  for  about  seven  years  after 
this,  he  enjoyed  nearly  a  heaven  upon  earth.  His  soul  was 
almost  continually  filled  with  a  sense  of  the  love  of  God  in 
Christ ;  so  that  from  the  time  of  his  waking  in  the  morning, 
his  heart  was  rising  to  God,  and  triumphing  in  him ;  and 
these  thoughts  attended  him  through  all  the  day,  till  he  lay 


1(5  LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER. 

down  on  his  bed  again,  and  a  short  parenthesis  of  sleep — for 
it  was  but  a  very  short  one  that  he  allowed  himself — invig- 
orated his  animal  powers  for  renewing  those  thoughts  with 
greater  intenseness  and  sensibility. 

A  life,  any  thing  like  this,  could  not  be  entered  upon,  in 
the  midst  of  such  company  as  he  was  obliged  to  keep,  with- 
out great  opposition.  He,  however,  early  began  a  practice, 
which  to  the  last  day  of  his  life  he  retained,  of  reproving 
vice  and  profaneness ;  and  was  never  afraid  to  debate  the 
matter  with  any,  under  the  consciousness  of  such  superiority 
in  the  goodness  of  his  cause. 

A  remarkable  instance  of  this  happened  about  the  mid- 
dle of  the  year  1720,  on  his  first  return  to  make  any  con- 
siderable abode  in  England  after  his  remarkable  change. 
He  had  heard  on  the  other  side  of  the  water,  that  it  was 
currently  reported  among  his  companions  at  home,  that  he 
was  stark  mad — a  report  at  which  no  reader,  who  knows 
the  wisdom  of  the  world  in  these  matters,  will  be  much  sur- 
prised. He  hence  concluded  that  he  should  have  many 
battles  to  fight,  and  was  willing  to  despatch  the  business  as 
fast  as  he  could.  And  therefore,  being  to  spend  a  few  days 
at  the  country-house  of  a  person  of  distinguished  rank,  with 
whom  he  had  been  very  intimate,  he  begged  the  favor  of 
him  that  he  would  contrive  matters  so,  that  a  day  or  two 
after  he  came  down,  several  of  their  former  gay  companions 
might  meet  at  his  Lordship's  table ;  that  he  might  have  an 
opportunity  of  making  his  apology  to  them,  and  acquainting 
them  with  the  nature  and  reasons  of  his  change.  It  was 
accordingly  agreed  to ;  and  a  pretty  large  company  met  on 
the  day  appointed,  with  previous  notice  that  Col.  Gardiner 
would  be  there.  A  good  deal  of  raillery  passed  at  dinner, 
to  which  the  colonel  made  very  little  answer.  But  when 
the  cloth  was  taken  away,  and  the  servants  had  retired,  he 
begged  their  patience  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  plainly 


LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER.  17 

and  seriously  told  them  what  notions  he  entertained  of  virtue 
and  religion,  and  on  what  considerations  he  had  absolutely 
determined  that,  by  the  grace  of  God,  he  would  make  these 
things  the  care  and  business  of  his  life,  whatever  he  might 
lose  by  it,  and  whatever  censure  and  contempt  he  might 
incur.  He  well  knew  how  improper  it  was  in  such  com- 
pany to  relate  the  extraordinary  manner  in  which  he  was 
awakened,  which  they  would  probably  have  interpreted  as 
a  demonstration  of  lunacy,  against  all  the  gravity  and  solid- 
ity of  his  discourse ;  but  he  contented  himself  with  such  a 
rational  defence  of  a  righteous,  sober,  and  godly  life,  as  he 
knew  none  of  them  could  with  any  shadow  of  reason  con- 
test. He  then  challenged  them  to  propose  any  thing  they 
could  urge,  to  prove  that  a  life  of  irreligion  and  debaucher} 
was  preferable  to  the  fear,  love,  and  worship  of  the  eternal 
God,  and  a  conduct  agreeable  to  the  precepts  of  his  Gospel. 
And  he  failed  not  to  bear  his  testimony  from  his  own  expe- 
rience— to  one  part  of  which  many  of  them  had  been  wit- 
nesses— that,  after  having  run  the  round  of  sensual  pleasure, 
with  all  the  advantages  the  best  constitution  and  spirits  could 
give  him,  he  had  never  tasted  any  thing  deserving  to  be 
called  happiness,  till  he  made  religion  his  refuge  and  de- 
light. He  testified,  calmly  and  boldly,  the  habitual  serenity 
and  peace  that  he  now  felt  in  his  own  breast,  and  the  com- 
posure and  pleasure  with  which  he  looked  forward  to  objects 
which  the  gayest  sinner  must  acknowledge  to  be  equally 
unavoidable  and  dreadful. 

Upon  this,  the  master  of  the  table,  a  person  of  a  very 
frank  and  candid  disposition,  cut  short  the  debate  by  saying, 
"  Come,  let  us .  call  another  cause :  we  thought  this  man 
mad,  and  he  is  in  good  earnest  proving  that  we  are  so." 
On  the  whole,  this  well-judged  circumstance  saved  him  a 
good  deal  of  further  trouble.  When  his  former  acquaint- 
ances observed  that  he  was  still  conversable  and  innocently 


18  LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER. 

cheerful,  and  that  he  was  immovable  in  his  resolution,  they 
desisted  from  further  importunity.  And  he  declared,  that 
instead  of  losing  one  valuable  friend  by  this  change  in  his 
character,  he  found  himself  much  more  esteemed  and  re- 
garded by  many  who  could  not  persuade  themselves  to  imi- 
tate his  example. 

Nothing  remarkable  occurred  in  the  colonel's  life  from 
this  period  till  the  year  1726,  when  he  married  the  lady 
Frances  Erskine,  daughter  to  the  Earl  of  Buchan,  by  whom 
he  had  thirteen  children,  five  of  whom  survived  their  father. 

Before  the  close  of  these  short  memoirs,  it  may  not  be 
improper,  or  without  its  use,  to  give  the  reader  a  sketch  of 
the  character  of  this  excellent  man  with  reference  to  his  par- 
ticular relative  situations  :  in  some  one  or  other  of  which  the 
reader  may  certainly  find  a  model  worthy  of  his  imitation. 

To  view  him  first  in  the  calmness  of  domestic  life,  and 
at  the  head  of  his  affectionate  family — it  will  naturally  be 
supposed,  that  as  soon  as  he  had  a  house,  he  erected  an  altar 
in  it ;  that  the  word  of  God  was  read  there,  and  prayers  and 
praises  constantly  offered.  These  were  not  to  be  omitted 
on  account  of  any  guest ;  for  he  esteemed  it  a  part  of  due 
respect  to  those  that  remained  under  his  roof,  to  take  it  for 
granted  they  would  look  upon  it  as  a  very  bad  compliment, 
to  imagine  they  would  have  been  obliged  by  his  neglecting 
the  duties  of  religion  on  their  account.  As  his  family  in- 
creased, he  had  a  minister  statedly  resident  in  his  house, 
who  discharged  the  offices  of  tutor  and  chaplain ;  and  was 
always  treated  with  kindness  and  respect.  He  was  con- 
stant in  his  attendance  on  public  worship,  in  which  exem- 
plary care  was  taken  that  the  children  and  servants  might 
accompany  the  heads  of  the  family. 

The  necessity  of  being  so  many  months  together  distant 
from  home,  prevented  him  from  taking  part  in  several  of 


LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER.  1(* 

those  condescending  labors  connected  with  the  education  of 
his  children  in  early  life,  which,  to  a  soul  so  benevolent,  so 
wise,  and  so  zealous,  would  undoubtedly  have  afforded  a 
very  exquisite  pleasure :  but  when  he  was  with  them,  he 
failed  not  to  instruct  and  admonish  them ;  and  the  constant 
deep  sense  with  which  he  spoke  of  divine  things,  and  the 
real,  unaffected  indifference  which  he  always  showed  for 
what  this  vain  world  is  most  ready  to  admire,  were  daily 
lessons  of  wisdom  and  of  piety.  And  it  was  easy  to  per- 
ceive, that  the  openings  of  genius  in  the  young  branches  of 
his  family  gave  him  great  delight,  and  that  he  had  a  secret 
ambition  to  see  them  excel  in  what  they  undertook.  Yet, 
he  was  very  jealous  over  his  heart,  lest  he  should  be  too 
fondly  attached  to  them,  and  was  an  eminent  proficient  in 
the  blessed  science  of  resignation  to  the  Divine  will. 

To  consider  him  in  his  military  character — his  bravery 
was  as  remarkable  in  the  field  of  battle,  as  his  milder  virtues 
in  the  domestic  circle :  and  he  was  particularly  careful  to 
prevent  the  various  duties  of  religion  and  his  profession  from 
interfering  with  one  another,  either  in  himself  or  in  others. 
He  therefore  abhorred  every  thing  that  should  look  like  a 
contrivance  to  keep  the  soldiers  employed  about  their  horses 
and  their  arms  at  the  season  of  public  worship ;  far  from 
that,  he  used  to  have  them  drawn  up  just  before  it  began, 
and  from  the  parade  they  went  off  to  the  house  of  God, 
where  they  behaved  with  as  much  reverence,  gravity,  and 
decorum,  during  the  time  of  divine  service,  as  any  of  their 
fellow- worshippers. 

That  his  remarkable  care  to  maintain  good  discipline 
among  them  might  be  the  more  effectual,  he  made  himself  on 
all  occasions  accessible  to  them,  and  expressed  a  great  con- 
cern for  their  interest,  temporal  as  well  as  spiritual ;  yet  he 
had  all  the  firmness  requisite  to  the  infliction  of  punishment 
where  he  judged  it  necessary. 


20  LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER 

We  may  notice  one  instance  of  his  conduct,  which  hap- 
pened at  Leicester.  While  part  of  his  regiment  was  en* 
camped  in  that  neighborhood,  the  colonel  went  unknown  to 
the  camp,  in  the  middle  of  the  night;  for  sometimes  ho 
lodged  at  his  quarters  in  the  town.  One  of  the  sentinels 
had  abandoned  his  post,  and,  on  being  seized,  broke  out  into 
some  oaths  and  profane  execrations  against  those  that  dis- 
covered him — a  crime  of  which  the  colonel  had  the  greatest 
abhorrence,  and  on  which  he  never  failed  to  animadvert. 
The  man  afterwards  appeared  much  ashamed  and  concerned 
for  what  he  had  done.  But  the  colonel  ordered  him  to  be 
brought  up  early  the  next  morning  to  his  own  quarters, 
where  he  had  prepared  a  piquet,  on  which  he  appointed  him 
a  private  sort  of  penance ;  and  while  he  was  put  upon  it,  he 
discoursed  with  him  seriously  and  tenderly  upon  the  evils 
and  aggravations  of  his  fault,  admonishing  him  of  the  Divine 
displeasure  which  he  had  incurred ;  and  then  urged  him  to 
argue,  from  the  pain  which  he  then  felt,  how  infinitely  more 
dreadful  it  must  be  to  "  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  living 
God,"  and  to  meet  the  terrors  of  that  damnation  which  he 
had  been  accustomed  impiously  to  call  upon  himself  and 
his  companions.  The  result  of  this  proceeding  was,  that  the 
ofFender  accepted  his  punishment,  not  only  with  submission, 
but  with  thankfulness ;  and  spoke  of  it  some  years  after  in 
such  a  manner,  that  there  seemed  reason  to  hope  it  had  been 
instrumental  in  producing  a  change  in  his  heart,  as  well  as 
in  his  life. 

Indeed,  this  excellent  officer  always  expressed  the  great- 
est reverence  for  the  name  of  the  blessed  God,  and  endeav- 
ored to  suppress,  and,  if  possible,  to  extirpate  that  detestable 
sin  of  swearing  and  cursing,  which  is  everywhere  so  com- 
mon, and  especially  among  military  men.  He  often  de- 
clared his  sentiments  with  respect  to  this  enormity,  at  the 
head  of  the  regiment,  and  urged  his  captains  and  their  sub- 


LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER.  21 

alterns  to  take  the  greatest  care  that  they  did  not  give  the 
sanction  of  their  example  to  that  which,  by  their  office,  they 
were  obliged  to  punish  in  others.  His  zeal  on  these  occa- 
sions wrought  in  a  very  active,  and  sometimes  in  a  remark- 
ably successful  manner,  among  not  only  his  equals,  but  his 
superiors  too. 

Nor  was  his  charity  less  conspicuous  than  his  zeal.  The 
lively  and  tender  feelings  of  his  heart  engaged  him  to  dis- 
pense his  bounties  with  a  liberal  hand  •  and,  above  all,  his 
sincere  and  ardent  love  to  the  Lqrd  Jesus  Christ  led  him 
to  feel,  with  a  true  sympathy,  the  concerns  of  his  poor  mem- 
bers. In  consequence  of  this,  he  honored  several  of  his 
friends  with  commissions  for  the  relief  of  the  poor ;  and 
esteemed  it  an  honor  which  Providence  conferred  upon  him, 
that  he  should  be  made  the  Lord's  almoner  for  the  relief 
of  such. 

That  heroic  contempt  of  death,  which  had  often  discov- 
ered itself  in  the  midst  of  former  dangers,  was  manifested 
now  in  his  discourse  with  several  of  his  most  intimate  friends. 
And  as  he  had  in  former  years  often  expressed  a  desire, 
"  that  if  it  were  the  will  of  God,  he  might  have  some  honor- 
able call  to  sacrifice  his  life  in  defence  of  religion  and  the 
liberties  of  his  country;"  so  when  it  appeared  to  him  most 
probable  that  he  might  be  called  to  it  immediately,  he  met 
the  summons  with  the  greatest  readiness.  This  appears 
from  a  letter  which  he  wrote  only  eight  days  before  his 
death  :  "  The  enemy,"  says  he,  "are  advancing  to  cross  the 
Frith  ;  but  I  trust  in  the  almighty  God,  who  doeth  whatso- 
ever he  pleases  in  the  armies  of  heaven,  and  among  the 
inhabitants  of  the  earth." 

These  sentiments  wrought  in  him  to  the  last,  in  the  mos* 
effectual  manner.  But  he  was  ordered  to  march  as  fast  as 
possible  to  Dunbar,  and  that  hasty  retreat,  in  concurrence 
w  ih  the  news  which  they  soon  after  received  of  the  surren- 

Elejj.  Nar.  26 


22  LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER. 

der  of  Edinburgh  to  the  enemy,  struck  a  visible  panic  into 
botli  the  regiments  of  dragoons.  This  affected  the  colonel 
so  much,  that,  on  Thursday  before  the  fatal  action  of  Pres- 
ton-Pans, he  intimated  to  an  officer  of  considerable  rank,  that 
he  expected  the  event  would  be  as  in  fact  it  proved ;  and  to 
ii  person  who  visited  him,  he  said,  "  I  cannot  influence  the 
conduct  of  others  as  I  could  wish,  but  I  have  one  life  to  sac- 
rifice to  my  country's  safety,  and  I  shall  not  spare  it." 

On  Friday,  September  20,  the  day  before  the  battle 
which  transmitted  him  .to  his  immortal  crown,  when  the 
whole  army  was-  drawn  up  about  noon,  the  colonel  rode 
through  all  the  ranks  of  his  own  regiment,  addressing  them 
at  once  in  the  most  respectful  and  animating  manner,  both 
as  soldiers  and  as  Christians,  to  engage  them  to  exert  them- 
selves courageously  in  the  service  of  their  country,  and  to 
neglect  nothing  that  might  have  a  tendency  to  prepare  them 
for  whatever  event  might  happen.  They  seemed  much 
affected  with  the  address. 

He  continued  all  night  under  arms,  wrapped  up  in  his 
cloak,  and  sheltered  under  a  rick  of  barley  which  happened 
to  be  in  the  field.  About  three  in  the  morning,  he  called 
his  domestic  servants  to  him,  of  whom  there  were  four  in 
waiting.  He  dismissed  three  of  them  with  the  most  affec- 
tionate Christian  advice,  and  such  solemn  charges  relative 
to  the  performance  of  their  duty,  and  care  of  their  souls,  as 
seemed  plainly  to  intimate  that  he  apprehended  he  was  tak- 
ing his  last  farewell  of  them.  There  is  great  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  he  spent  the  little  remainder  of  time,  which  could 
not  be  much  above  an  hour,  in  those  devout  exercises  of 
soul  which  had  so  long  been  habitual  to  him.  The  army 
was  alarmed  at  break  of  day  by  the  noise  of  the  enemy's 
approach,  and  the  attack  was  made  before  sunrise.  As 
soon  os  the  enemy  came  within  gunshot,  they  commenced 
a  furious  fire  ;   and  the  dragoons,  which  constituted  the  left 


LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER.  23 

wing,  immediately  fled.  The  colonel,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  attack,  which  in  the  whole  lasted  but  a  few  minutes, 
received  a  bullet  in  his  left  breast,  which  made  him  give  a 
sudden  spring  in  his  saddle ;  upon  which  his  servant,  who 
had  led  the  horse,  would  have  persuaded  him  to  retreat; 
but  he  said  it  was  only  a  wound  in-  the  flesh,  and  fought 
on,  though  he  presently  received  a  shot  in  the  right  thigh. 
The  colonel  was,  for  a  few  moments,  supported  hyhis  men, 
and  particularly  by  about  fifteen  dragoons,  who  stood  by  him 
to  the  last.  But  after  a  faint  fire,  the  regiment  in  general 
was  seized  with  a  panic ;  and  though  the  colonel  and  some 
gallant  officers  did  what  they  could  to  rally  them  once  or 
twice,  they  at  last  took  a  precipitate  flight.  Just  at  this 
moment  Colonel  Gardiner  saw  a  party  of  foot  who  were 
then  bravely  fighting  near  him,  but  had  no  officer  to  head 
them,  and  rode  immediately  to  their  aid  ;  but  a  Highlander 
advancing  to  him  with  a  scythe  fastened  to  a  long  pole, 
gave  him  such  a  deep  wound  on  his  right  arm,  that  his 
sword  dropped  out  of  his  hand  ;  and  at  the  same  time  sev- 
eral others  coming  about  him,  while  he  was  thus  dread- 
fully entangled  with  that  cruel  weapon,  he  was  dragged  ofF 
from  his  horse.  The  moment  he  fell,  another  Highlander 
gave  him  a  stroke,  either  with  a  broadsword,  or  a  lochaber. 
axe,  on  the  head,  which  was  the  mortal  blow.  All  that 
his  faithful  attendant  saw  further  at  this  time,  was,  that,  as 
his  hat  was  falling  off,  he  took  it  in  his  left  hand,  and  waved 
it  as  a  signal  to  him  to  retreat,  and  added,  which  were  the 
last  words  he  ever  heard  him  speak,  "  Take  care  of  your- 
self;" upon  which  the  servant,  immediately  fled  to  a  mill, 
at  the  distance  of  about  two  miles  from  the  spot  on  which 
the  colonel  fell ;  where  he  changed  his  dress,  and,  disguised 
like  a  miller's  servant,  returned  with  a  cart  about  two  hours 
after  the  engagement.  The  hurry  of  the  action  was  then 
pretty  well  over,  and  he  found  his  much-honored  master 


24  LIFE  OF  COL.  GARDINER. 

not  only  plundered  of  his  watch  and  other  things  of  value, 
but  also  stripped  of  his  upper  garments  and  boots,  yet  still 
breathing ;  and  adds,  that  though  he  was  not  capable  of 
speech,  yet  on  taking  him  up,  he  opened  his  eyes,  which 
makes  it  something  questionable  whether  he  were  altogether 
insensible.  In  this  condition,  and  in  this  manner,  he  con- 
veyed him  to  the  church  of  Tranent,  whence  he  was  imme- 
diately taken  into  the  minister's  house,  and  laid  in  a  bed  ; 
where  he  continued  breathing  till  about  eleven  in  the  fore- 
noon, when  he  took  his  final  leave  of  pain  and  sorrow.  His 
remains  were  interred  the  Tuesday  following,  September 
24,  at  the  parish  church  of  Tranent,  where  he  had  usually 
attended  divine  service,  with  great  solemnity. 


For  further  particulars  in  the  life  of  this  eminent  Christian, 
the  reader  is  referred  to  a  volume  written  by  his  most  intimate 
friend,  Rev.  I\  Doddridge,  I).  D.,  entitled,  u  Some  Remarkal  ,e 
I'assajres  in  the  Life  of  the  Honorable  Col.  James  Gardiner." 


NARRATIVE   XIII. 

THE  TWO   OLD  MEN; 

OR, 

WHAT   MAKES   THEM  TO   DIFFER? 


BY  REV.   CAESAR   MALAN 

OF    GENEVA. 


I  had  occasion  to"  visit  a  distant  part  oi  my  parish — the 
afternoon  was  fine,  and  I  chose  a  path  which  presented  va- 
ried and  extensive  prospects.  As  I  ascended  an  eminence, 
I  saw  an  aged  laborer  before  me,  who  proceeded  slowly 
along,  bending  under  a  heavy  burden  of  wood.  I  knew 
something  of  this  man — he  was  generally  respected  among 
his  neighbors,  and  was  spoken  of  as  an  example  for  regular 
attendance  on  public  worship,  and  for  general  integrity  of 
conduct. 

As  I  came  near,  I  heard  him  complaining  to  himself. 

"  Hard  fatc,'r  said  he  ;   "how  many  troubles  fall  to  my 

lot.      At  seventy  years  old   I  am  obliged   to  work  from 

morning  till  night ;   and,  after  all,  can  hardly  keep  myself 

26* 


2  THE  TWO  OLD  iMEiN. 

from  staiving.  But  so  it  is,  and  it  is  of  no  use  to  com- 
plain." 

As  he  spoke  these  words,  he  laid  down  his  burden,  and 
stopped  to  rest. 

"  You  seem  tired,  my  friend,"  said  I.  "  The  path  is 
steep  and  rough,  and  you  are  not  so  strong  as  you  used 
to  be," 

Old  Man     It  is  the  case  with  all,  sir,  as  they  grow  old. 

Minister.  If  the  old  man  has  learned  wisdom,  he  will 
find  comfort  in  reflecting  that  his  labor  is  nearly  over. 

Old  Man.  What  you  say  is  true,  sir ;  we  must  soon  go 
hence  ;  but  it  is  hard  to  have  had  nothing  but  trouble  here. 
Well,  let  it  pass  ;  I  am  almost  at  the  end  of  my  journey. 

Minister.  Happy  are  those  who,  while  journeying  here, 
are  enabled  to  look  to  the  Saviour.  Old  age  has  no  terrors 
for  (hem. 

Old  Man.  You  are  right,  sir;  but  religion  does  not 
prevent  our  meeting  with  troubles.  I  am  a  proof  of  this, 
sir ;  no  one  can  be  more  religious  than  1  have  been  :  I  go 
regularly  to  church,  and  I  never  worked  on  Sundays ;  and, 
thank  God,  I  can  say,  without  boasting,  that  I  am  an  honest 
man  ;  but,  after  all,  no  one  has  met  with  more  misfortunes 
than  I  have. 

Minister.  Doubtless,  you  have  had  your  trials;  but, 
my  friend,  are  you  right  in  calling  them  misfortunes  I  God 
sends  afflictions  for  our  good. 

Old  Man.  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  it,  sir ;  but 
when  I  look  around  me,  and  see  so  many  wicked — I  do 
not  wish  to  speak  ill  of  my  neighbors — thank  God,  I  am 
not  guilty  of  that  sin  ;  but  every  body  knows,  that  there 
are  people  who  drink,  and  swear,  and  go  neither  to  church 
nor  meeting,  and  never  trouble  themselves  about  another 
world,  and  yet  they  live  quite  at  their  ease,  and  have  every 
thing  comfortable  about  them.     Now,  sir,  I  will  freely  own, 


THE  TWO  OLD  MEN.  3 

that  when  I  see  these  things,  I  cannot  help  asking  myself, 
whether  it  was  worth  my  while  to  take  all  this  trouble  co 
be  religious ;  for  what  have  I  got  by  it  ?  My  two  sons 
have  cost  me  money  without  end ;  and,  after  all,  it  was  of 
no  use,  for  they  died :  and  my  wife's  last  illness  took  what 
I.ttle  I  had  left;  and  here  am  I,  turned  of  seventy,  without 
a  shilling  in  the  world,  and  obliged  to  work  as  a  day-la- 
borer.     Surely,  my  lot  is  a  hard  one  ! 

Minister.  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  you  speak  in  this 
manner.  I  thought  that  you  had  been  a  Christian,  but  I 
see  no  proof  of  it. 

Old  Man.  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  Thank  God,  I  am 
a  Christian,  and  I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  go  to  heaven  when 
(die. 

Minister.    Tell  me  ;  how  do  you  expect  to  get  there  ? 

Old  Man.  The  same  way  as  others,  to  be  sure.  I  am 
an  honest  man ;  I  have  done  nobody  any  harm  ;  and, 
though  I  may  not  always  have  been  quite  so  good  as  I 
ought,  I  am  not  worse  than  my  neighbors ;  and  after  all, 
God  is  merciful,  and  he  will  pardon  those  who  repent,  and 
are  sorry  for  what  they  have  done  wrong. 

Minister.  You  are  right,  my  friend,  in  saying  that  God 
is  merciful ;  but  you  should  remember  he  is  just  also,  and 
that  we  have  all  sinned  against  him,  and  there  is  no  for- 
giveness, except  through  Christ  Jesus. 

Old  Man.  Who  denies  this,  sir  ?  We  must  be  Chris- 
tians, or  we  cannot  go  to  heaven. 

Minister.    What  is  being  a  Christian  ? 

Old  Man.  As  to  that,  sir,  every  body  best  knows  his 
own  meaning.  For  my  part,  I  am  not  one  of  those  who 
think  they  see  more  in  religion  than  their  reighbors.  If  I 
do  my  best,  it  is  all  that  is  required  of  me  ,  and  J  believe 
in  God,  and  in  Jesus  Christ,  and  give  myself  no  trouble  as 
to  anything  further. 


4  THE  TWO  OLD  MEN. 

Minister.  But,  my  good  friend,  are  you  certain  that  you 
believe  in  Jesus  Christ  ?  Perhaps  you  may  be  mistaken  as 
to  this. 

Old  Man.  Sir,  1  am  very  sure  that  a  good  man  will  do 
what  his  conscience  tells  him  he  ought  to  do ;  and  if  lie 
does  this,  God  will  not  condemn  him  for  not  having  believed 
what  he  did  not  understand. 

Minister.  But  supposing  he  has  neglected  what  he  did 
know  ?  And  J  cannot  help  saying  to  you,  Take  care  ;  for 
much  is  required  of  you,  and  your  time  is  now  short. 

Old  Man.  Thank  you,  sir,  for  your  advice;  but  I  hope 
to  live  some  years  longer.  I  do  not  think  my  time  will 
come  just  yet. 

Minister.  Ah,  my  friend,  if  you  knew  the  Saviour, 
you  would  be  ready  to  depart  hence,  and  to  be  with  him, 
instead  of  wishing  to  continue  in  this  world. 

Old  Man.  All  in  good  time,  sir:  while  we  are  here,  let 
us  make  the  best  of  this  world;  when  we  are  in  heaven,  we 
shall  have  time  enough  to  think  of  these  things. 

Minister.  My  poor  old  man  !  Is  this  all  your  hope  ? 
With  eternity  before  you,  upon  the  point  of  being  summoned 
to  appear  before  your  God,  you  have  no  trust  except  in 
your  own  righteousness*.  You  boast  that  you  have  not 
been  a  thief,  or  a  murderer,  or  a  slanderer,  but  you  know 
not  the  sinfulness  of  your  heart,  and  you  are  ignorant  of 
the  way  of  salvation,  through  faith  in  Christ  Jesus.  My 
good  friend,  I  must  tell  you  that  your  soul  is  in  great 
danger. 

Old  Man.  I  hope  not,  sir ;  I  hope  not.  I  have  no  fear 
about  the  matter.  I  do  my  duty — I  go  to  church — I  say 
my  prayers — I  read  the  Bible  now  and  then — this  is  more 
than  most  people  do;  and,  no  doubt,  I  shall  get  safe  to 
heaven  at  last. 

Minister.     My  friend,  I  fear  much  for  vou,  and  I  must 


THE  TWO  OLD  MEN.  | 

speak  to  you  again  about  these  things ;  think  more  about 
them.  I  will  call  upon  you  in  a  day  or  two  \  I  cannot  now 
stop  any  longer. 

Old  Man.     I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you,  sir ;  I  like  to 
talk  about  religion.     Good  day,  sir. 

Fervently  I  implored  Him  "  that  openeth,  and  no  man 
shutteth,"  Rev.  3 :  7,  to  have  compassion  upon  this  poor 
sinner,  and  to  enable  me  to  speak  a  word  in  season  the  nex* 
time  I  saw  him.  "  This,  then,"  said  I,  as  I  proceeded  on 
my  way,  "  is  the  religion  with  which  man  decks  himself 
before  his  fellow-mortals!  By  this  hardness  of  heart,  and 
this  self-confidence,  he  has  acquired  that  reputation  of  which 
he  is  so  vain !  A  few  accustomed  phrases,  decency  in  his 
outward  conduct,  and  a  constant  readiness  to  blame  the 
faults  of  others,  may  be  enough  to  satisfy  those  who  only 
regard  outward  appearances;  'But  the  Lord  looketh  on  the 
heart.'  1  Sam.  16  :  7.  What  hope,  then,  is  there  for  his 
soul  ?  What  is  the  ground  of  his  confidence  before  that 
just  and  holy  God,  since  he  desires  not  the  knowledge  of 
the  Lord  ;  still  less  does  he  seek  to  be  reconciled  to  God,  by 
fleeing  for  refuge  to  the  hope  set  before  him  in  Jesus  Christ, 
the  only  and  beloved  Son  of  God,  who  alone  is  the  way,  the 
truth,  and  the  life  ?  Who  has  this  man  chosen  for  his 
Saviour  ?  Alas !  he  does  not  even  feel  his  need  of  one. 
Dreadful  ignorance !  f  When  they  shall  say,  peace  and 
safety,  then  sudden  destruction  cometh  upon  them.'  1 
Thess.  5  :  3.  An  aged  person,  still  ignorant  of  our  Saviour, 
is  indeed  to  be  pitied  !  Is  there  ground  to  hope  that  he  will 
awaken  from  this  spiritual  slumber  before  the  sleep  of  death 
overtake  him  ;  and  what  is  this  first  death  now  at  hand, 
when  compared  with  that  which  must  come,  and  which  is 
emphatically  called  'the  second  death?'  Rev.  20  :  14 
Surely,  then,  it  is  peculiarly  the  duty  of  all,  who  are  the 
children  of  God,  to  pray  earnestly  and  at  all  times,  that  he 

17* 


tf  THE  TWO  OLD  MEN. 

would  have  compassion  upon  the  aged,  who  yet  remain  ig- 
norant of  his  salvation,  and  awaken  them,  while  it  is  yet 
time,  while  it  is  yet  called  to-day.'7 

My  mind  was  still  engaged  in  these  important  reflections; 
when  I  arrived  at  the  first  of  the  cottages  1  came  to  visit. 
It  was  a  humble  dwelling,  built  against  a  rock  which  rose 
abruptly  from  the  side  of  a  hill,  embosomed  in  trees,  which 
covered  it  with  their  luxuriant  foliage;  at  a  small  distance 
was  an  orchard ;  a  rivulet,  rising  from  a  higher  part  of  the 
hill,  flowed  past  the  cottage,  and  was  lost  in  plantations  of 
osier. 

Here  dwelt  one  of  the  most  aged  of  my  parishioners,  gen- 
erally known  by  the  name  of  Old  William.  He  had  built 
upon  a  rock,  not  as  to  his  earthly  dwelling  only ;  his  hopes 
for  eternity  rested  upon  the  Rock  of  ages.  These  hopes 
filled  him  with  peace  and  joy  in  believing,  and  had  support- 
ed him  under  the  privations  and  infirmities  of  age.  His  lot 
had  been  one  of  trial  and  Buffering;  for,  after  having  lived 
happily  for  many  years,  with  a  wife  whom  he  dearly  loved, 
he  had  followed  her  to  the  grave ;  and  had  also  lost,  in  early 
life,  three  promising  children  ;  while  two  others,  who  had  sur- 
vived, were  removed  to  a  distance,  and  he  had  now  no  one 
to  live  with  him  except  one  of  his  grandchildren  and  an 
aged  laborer. 

I  often  called  upon  this  old  man,  and  always  found  that 
I  was  benefited  by  his  conversation.  His  religion  was 
calm  and  simple,  and  free  from  guile  ;  the  words  he  uttered 
spoke  the  inward  peace  which  possessed  his  soul.  When- 
ever he  mentioned  his  past  trials  and  sufferings,  he  dwelt  so 
much  upon  the  love  of  his  Saviour,  that  it  was  impossible 
not  to  feel  affected  by  that  influence  which  ever  accompa- 
nies true  faith,  and  which  gives  a  foretaste  of  joys  to  come. 
As  I  drew  near  the  house,  1  saw  the  old  man  sitting  at  the 
door,  and  his  grandson  standing  between  his  knees.     The 


THE  TWO  OLD  MEN.  7 

old  man  was  speaking  earnestly ;  and  they  were  too  much 
engaged  to  observe  my  approach.  "  No,  my  child,''  said 
he,  "  we  sorrow  not  for  your  father,  as  without  hope  :  his 
body,  it  is  true,  lies  in  the  grave,  but  his  soul  is  with  Him 
who  loved  and  redeemed  him.  Do  you  remember  your 
father  ?  Oh  !  may  you  be  a  disciple  of  Christ,  as  he  was. 
Shall  not  I  soon  be  with  him  ?" 

"  And  shall  not  I  go  too  V'  said  the  boy. 

"  I  hope  you  will,  my  child  :  God  is  the  father  of  the 
fatherless;  trust  in  him,  I  must  soon  leave  you.5' 

At  these  words  the  child  burst  into  tears.  1  called  him 
to  me,  and  said  what  I  could  to  comfort  him,  and,  taking  a 
little  book  from  my  pocket,  "  Go,  my  dear,"  said  I,  "  sit 
down  under  that  tree,  and  read  this ;  you  will  find  it  tells 
you  that  God  will  never  forget  his  children." 

"  My  friend,"  said  I,  as  soon  as  I  was  alone  with  the  old 
man,  "  let  us  bless  the  Lord  at  all  times,  and  under  all  the 
dispensations  of  his  providence." 

Old  William.  Yes,  for  he  is  our  Father  ;  he  is  always 
kind  to  us.  "  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the 
Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear  him."     Psalm  103  :  13.      * 

Minister.  I  rejoice,  my  brother,  to  find,  that,  in  your 
old  age,  you  are  thus  supported  by  the  Lord ;  and  that  your 
faith  is  strengthened  as  the  hour  of  your  departure  draws 
nigh.     Your  lot  appears  to  me  desirable. 

Old  William.  Sir,  I  have  indeed  much  cause  for  le- 
joicing — the  Lord  crowns  me  with  his  loving-kindness. 

Minister.  Your  past  troubles,  and  the  recollection  of 
them,  are  no  longer  too  bitter  for  you  to  bear  ;  the  suffer- 
ings of  old  age  are.  not  beyond  your  strength  to  sustain. 

Old  William.  Ah,  sir,  you  know  better  than  I  do 
from  whence  our  strength  is  derived.  The  Lord  has  said, 
"  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee ;  for  my  strength  is  made 
perfect  in  weakness."     2  Cor.  12  :  9.     I  did  not  always 


8  THE    TWO  OLD  MEN. 

think  so :  some  events  in  my  past  life  have  troubled  and 
cast  me  down,  and  more  than  once  did  1  forget  Him  in  whom 
alone  we  have  strength,  and  then  I  gave  way  to  unbelief. 
I  recollect,  particularly,  one  of  these  bitter  trials,  which  1 
was  ready  to  sink  under ;  but  the  Saviour  remembered  his 
promise,  though  I  had  forgotten  it.  He  would  not  let  me 
go,  though  I  was  ready  to  depart  from  him.  I  had  just  lost 
my  dear  wife  ;  she  left  this  world  rejoicing  and  trusting  in 
Him  who  loved  and  redeemed  her;  and,  like  the  martyr 
Stephen,  she  appeared  to  have  a  glimpse  of  the  glory  of  her 
Redeemer,  even  in  this  world  of  sin  and  Buffering  ;  yet  my 
hard,  unthankful  heart  praised  him  not  for  this  loving-kind- 
ness towards  her;  1  felt  stunned  and  angered  under  my  loss  ; 
I  submitted,  it  is  true,  but  1  submitted  not  willingly  ;  1  did 
not  say,  "  It  is  the  Lord,  let  him  do  what  seemeth  him  good." 
1  Sam.  3  :  18.  But  God  loves  us  with  real  love,  and  draws 
towards  him  the  heart  which  is  not  of  itself  inclined  to  seek 
him,  and  according  to  his  word  I  have  found,  that  "  whom 
the  Lord  loveth,  he  chasteneth.5,  Heb.  12  :  6.  I  had  been 
one  day  to  a  neighboring  village,  to  plant  some  flowers  on 
the  grave  of  my  dear  wife.  On  my  return,  I  saw  a  thick 
smoke  rising  from  the  ruins  of  my  barn — it  was  consumed, 
and  all  my  little  harvest — all  that  I  had  stored  up  for.  my 
family.  Thou,  O  Lord,  hast  pardoned  me ;  but  thou 
knowest  that  the  first  thoughts  of  that  hard  heart,  which  is 
still  within  me,  were  to  murmur  and  complain.  I  was  ready 
to  say,  "  What  doest  thou  V3  Job  9  :  12.  I  entered  my 
cottage,  and  there  a  more  dreadful  scene  met  my  eyes ;  I 
saw  Daniel,  my  eldest  son,  the  comfort  and  stay  of  my  age 
the  support  of  my  family,  and  an  example  to  all  who  knew 
him,  lying  on  the  floor,  scorched,  burnt,  and  disfigured, 
while  some  friends  were  applying  remedies  ;  but  the  injuries 
he  had  received  were  too  severe,  and  he  soon  afterwards 
expired.     He  had  rushed  into  the  middle  of  the  flames,  and 


THE  TWO  OLD  MEN.  9 

saved  his  youngest  sister,  but  God  was  pleased  to  call  hiin 
hence  by  this  his  work  and  labor  of  love.  Never  can  I 
recollect  that  day  without  bitterness  of  soul ;  and  that,  not 
so  much  from  the  remembrance  of  this  affliction,  severe  as 
it  was,  but  from  calling  to  mind  my  unbelief,  and  murmur- 
ing against  thee,  O  Lord.  Would  you  believe,  sir,  that  my 
Daniel,  full  of  faith  and  rejoicing,  even  under  the  painful 
agonies  he  then  suffered,  should  be  able  to  comfort,  or,  I 
would  rather  say,  to  shame  his  wretched  father?  "  I  can  no 
longer  see  you,  my  father,"  said  he,  "  but  I  hear  what  you 
say,  and  it  grieves  me.  O,  my  father,  you  are  complaining 
against  God."  "  It  is  more,"  cried  I,  "than  I  can  bear." 
"  Yes,  my  father,  it  is  more  than  you  can  bear,  but  it  is  the 
Lord's  doing ;  he  has  sent  you  this  trial ;  and  as  for  me,  I 
am  about  to  depart  hence,  and  be  with  him  for  ever."  "  But 
why  could  he  not  spare  you  a  few  years  longer?"  My  son 
replied  not,  but  in  a  low  voice  he  prayed,  "  Come,  Lord  Je- 
sus; O!  come  quickly."  Then  asking  for  his  wife  and 
their  infant,  he  commended  them  to  Him  who  feeds  the  fowls 
of  the  air,  and  clothes  the  grass  of  the  field.  Matt.  6  : 
26-34.  "Elizabeth,"  added  he,  "  remember  that  your  hus- 
band is  going  to  be  with  Christ,  and  teach  our  Benjamin 
that  there  is  a  Saviour."  These  were  his  last  words.  Since 
that  time  she  has  joined  him  above.  But  I  murmured 
against  thee,  O  Lord,  and  cried,  "  Wherefore  is  light  given 
to  him  that  is  in  misery,  and  life  unto  the  bitter  in  soul  ?" 
Job  3-:  20. 

Minister.  Your  mind  now  is  at  peace,  and  you  have 
experienced  that,  although  "  no  chastening  for  the  present 
seemeth  to  be  joyous,  but  grievous;  nevertheless,  afterward 
it  yieldeth  the  peaceable  fruit  of  righteousness  unto  them 
which  are  exercised  thereby."     Heb.  12  :  11. 

Old  William.  Yes,  sir,  I  am  now  enabled  to  say,  "It 
is  good  for  me  that  T  have  been  afflicted."     Psa.  119  :  71. 

Bl«g.  Nv  27 


10  THE  TWO  OLD  MEN. 

I  perceive  how  great  has  been  the  mercy  of  the  Lord  to  my 
soul ;  I  now  can  see  the  way  by  which  he  has  led  me,  and 
which  I  knew  not ;  it  is  far  better  than  the  way  I  desired 
to  choose  myself.  The  Lord  seemed  to  visit  me  in  his  dis- 
pleasure :  these  dispensations,  to  worldly  eyes,  appeared  the 
effects  of  divine  wrath  ;  but  I  know  that  they  are  the  reme- 
dies which  are  needful  for  the  healing  of  my  soul.  Yes, 
my  Saviour,  thou  art  full  of  compassion  and  loving-kindness 
towards  me,  wretched  sinner  that  I  am. 

Minister.  Ere  long,  my  friend,  you  will  be  with 
Him  who  has  "loved  thee  with  an  everlasting  love,"  Jer 
31  :  3,  and  "  who  was  delivered  for  our  offences. "  Rom. 
4  :  25. 

"  Yes  ;  may  it  be  soon,"  said  the  old  man,  raising  his 
eyes  towards  heaven,  with  an  expression  of  love  and  joy 
which  I  cannot  describe,  and  which  surpassed  any  thing  1 
have  ever  seen  in  others.  x 

I  have  often  marked  the  peace  and  serenity  which  ap- 
peared upon  the  countenances  of  aged  persons,  who  knew 
the  Saviour,  and  trusted  in  him  alone — far  different  from  the 
anxious,  care-worn  expression  of  those  who  have  grown  old 
in  the  love  of  the  world,  and  the  things  which  are  in  it ; 
but  I  never  before  so  strongly  marked  that  divine  seal  of 
the  hope  which  "  maketh  not  ashamed."  Rom.  5:5.  It 
is  true,  that  I,  perhaps,  never  before  found  a  heart  so  sin- 
cerely attached  to  Christ,  nor  a  Christian  who  felt  so  deeply 
that  he  was  a  stranger  and  pilgrim  on   the  earth,  Heb. 

11  :  13,  hastening  towards  that  "  house  not  made  with  hands, 
eternal  in  the  heavens."     2  Cor.  5:1. 

I  think  that  aged  pilgrims  frequently  fall  short  of  their 
privileges.  They  are  in  general  deeply  anxious  respecting 
the  salvation  of  their  souls  ;  for  how  is  it  possible  to  be  un- 
concerned, when  they  cannot  but  feel  that  eternity  is  just 
at  hand ! — when  the  infirmities  of  a  body,  worn  out  by  sin 


THE  TWO  OLD  MEN.  H 

and  worldly  cares,  remind  them  at  every  step,  that  they 
must  soon  be  laid  in  that  narrow  house  which  is  appointed 
for  all  living,  there  to  return,  earth  to  earth,  and  ashes  to 
ashes  !  The  old  man,  now  arrived  at  that  age  which  is  the 
term  appointed  for  the  life  of  the  children  of  men,  if  he 
does  not  suffer  himself  to  be  blinded  by  the  vain  imagina- 
tions of  his  own  heart,  and  the  false,  flattering  hopes  of  his 
friends,  must  daily  feel,  "  I  have  run  my  appointed  course  : 
I  must  soon  depart  hence,  and  that  for  ever."  Then,  unless 
he  is  willing  his  soul  should  be  lost  for  ever,  surely  he  will 
look  to  Jesus.  "  For  there  is  none  other  name  under  heav-" 
en,  given  among  men,  whereby  we  must  be  saved."  Acts 
4  :  12.  Yet,  how  seldom  do  we  find,  beneath  gray  hairs,  a 
"desire  to  depart,  and  to  be  with  Christ."  Phil.  1  :  23.  Few 
indeed  are  there,  who  are  found  looking  for,  and  anxiously 
waiting  the  coming  of  that  day,  when  they  shall  enter  upon 
another  and  a  better  world.  Still  fewer  are  there,  who, 
like  this  old  man,  have  cast  themselves  entirely  upon  the 
Saviour  and  his  finished  redemption.  Happy  is  the  soul 
who  can  thus  contemplate  the  Saviour  dying  for  us  men, 
and  for  our  salvation  ;  the  remembrance  of  past  transgres- 
sions at  once  humbles  him  in  the  dust  before  his  Lord,  and 
excites  his  admiration  for  the  "  great  love  wherewith  he 
loved  us."     Eph.  2:4. 

Old  William.  This,  sir,  is  the  ground  of  my  hope  and 
rejoicing,  when  I  think  of  the  world  to  come.  When  I  sit 
here,  at  evening,  while  Benjamin  is  collecting  his  sheep,  I 
call  to  mind  the  days  of  my  pilgrimage,  fewer  in  number 
and  more  evil  than  those  of  Jacob,  Gen.  47  :  9,  and  how 
far  does  the  long-suffering  and  the  love  of  God  appear  to 
pass  human  understanding — I  seem  lost,  when  1  reflect 
thereon.  I  recollect  the  time  when  I  built  this  little  cot- 
tage:  I  was  just  turned  of  thirty,  and  about  to  marry.  I 
had  lived,  as  most  of  our  countrymen  do,  without  seriously 


12  THE  TWO  OLD  MEN. 

thinking  of  the  concerns  of  my  soul,  and  only  a  few  occa- 
sional thoughts  upon  the  subject  had  passed  across  my  mind. 
I  felt,  however,  desirous  to  pursue  these  thoughts.  How 
kind  was  the  Saviour  towards  me  !  It  was  indeed  by  bands 
of  love,  Hosea  11  : 4,  that  he  drew  me  to  him.  He  united 
me  to  one  of  his  children — my  dear  Susan  was  a  follower 
of  Christ — she  was  the  only  daughter  of  a  poor  widow,  who 
lived  at  that  white  cottage  which  you  see  at  the  end  of  the 
valley.  How  often  have  we  walked  by  the  side  of  that 
little  stream,  conversing  about  these  things.  She  was  al- 
ways the  first  to  begin  this  subject  ;  and  she,  by  divine 
grace,  was  the  means  appointed  to  teach  me  that  I  was  a 
poor  sinner,  but  that  Christ  died  for  mc. 

Minister  The  Lord  blessed  you  in  thus  granting, 
what,  according  to  his  word,-  is  a  favor  from  him.  Prov. 
18  :  22. 

Old  William.  She  was  indeed  a  blessing  from  him, 
and  therefore  I  ought  to  have  given  him  all  my  heart,  and 
to  have  lived  only  to  him,  as  she  lived.  But  how  often 
have  I  grieved  her  by  the  hardness  of  my  heart  towards 
God.  Often  has  she  said  to  me,  "  O  !  why  will  not  you 
love  the  Saviour  ?  The  pride  of  your  heart  will  not  allow 
you  to  accept  the  salvation  he  offers,  because  it  is  '  without 
money,  and  without  price,'  Isa.  55  :  1  ;  but  rest  assured 
that  it  is  more  certain  and  more  sweet  to  receive  this  as  a 
free  gifi  from  our  God,  than  to  harass  and  torment  yourself 
as  you  do,  with  the  vain  hope  of  being  able  to  work  out 
salvation  for  yourself." 

Minister.  You  were  then  righteous  in  your  own  eyes, 
aid  forgot,  that  of  yourself  you  had  no  power  to  do  good 
works,  pleasant  and  acceptable  to  God  ;  but  supposed  that 
your  own  good  deeds  would  blot  out  your  sins,  and  ransom 
your  soul  from  condemnation. 

Old  William.    It  is  true,  sir,  I  felt  a  secret  repugnance 


THE  TWO  OLD  MEN.  J  3 

and  dislike  to  the  great  and  consoling  truth,  that  "a  sinner 
can  only  be  justified  before  God,  by  the  righteousness  and 
the  blood  of  Christ."  I  loathed  the  idea  of  "  being  justified 
freely  by  his  grace,  through  the  redemption  that  is  in  Christ 
Jesus."  Rom.  3  :  24.  To  relinquish  my  own  righteous- 
ness, and  seek  to  be  clothed  with  his  righteousness  ;  to 
renounce  all  that  I  had  secretly  prided  myself  upon,  and 
relinquish  all  that  I  had  done  in  my  own  strength — in  short, 
that  "all  our  righteousnesses  are  as  filthy  rags"  in  the  sight 
of  God,  was  hateful  to  me.  Isa.  64  :  6.  These  doctrines 
of  the  Gospel  hurt  the  pride  of  my  heart.  I  strove  with 
my  Maker,  and  felt  angry  with  my  patient  and  affectionate 
wife,  who,  seeing  me  thus  refusing  the  offer  of  salvation 
through  the  blood  of  Christ,  disputed  not  with  me,  but  con- 
tinued to  point  out  the  Saviour  to  me  as  "the  Lamb  of  God, 
which  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world."  John  1  :  29.  But 
now  mercy  has  been  extended  to  me,  "  My  soul  shall  be 
joyful  in  my  God,  for  he  hath  clothed  me  with  the  garments 
of  salvation ;  he  hath  covered  me  with  the  robe  of  right- 
eousness."    Isa.  61  :  10. 

Minister.  But  do  you  not  still  "groan,  being  burden- 
ed" with  sin  and  suffering;  do  not  your  daily  offences 
against  God  cause  you  much  grief  and  bitterness  of  soul? 

Old  William.  Yes,  daily  do  I  long  for  that  happy 
moment  when  my  soul  shall  be  freed  from  sin  ;  when  I 
shall  be  called  to  depart  hence,  and  to  be  with  Christ.  The 
accomplishment  of  this  hope  appears  now  at  hand,  and  this 
alone  supports  and  sustains  me.  Oh,  sir,  you  know  not 
how  I  wish  to  be  freed  from  the  power  of  unbelief ;  how 
groan,  being  burdened  by  this  body  of  sin  and  death. 

Minister.     Then  are  you  not  yet  at  peace  with  God  ? 

Old  William.  Thanks  be  to  God,  sir,  for  the  inestima- 
ble gift;  he  has  not  left  me  in  doubt  of  his  love  towards  me. 
I  know  that  it  is  an  unchanging  love  ;   and  that  the  love 

27* 


14  THE  TWO  OLD  MEN. 

wherewith  he  loved  me,  while  yet  his  enemy,  Rom.  5  :  10, 
will  not  be  taken  away,  seeing  that  I  am  now  justified  by 
his  blood,  Rom.  5  :  9  ;  and,  to  use  the  words  of  the  aposlle, 
"  lam  persuaded  that  neither  death,  nor  life,  nor  angels,  nor 
principalities,  nor  powers,  nor  things  present,  nor  things  to 
come,  nor  height,  nor  depth,  nor  any  other  creature,  shall 
be  able  to  separate  us  from  the  love  of  God,  which  is  in 
Christ  Jesus  our  Lord,"  Rom.  8  :  38,  39  ;  which  he  has  tes- 
tified unto  me,  "  according  to  the  good  pleasure  of  his  will." 
Eph.  1:5.  I  often  think  that  1  act  towards  my  heavenly 
Father  somewhat  in  the  manner  in  which  my  little  Benja- 
min acts  towards  me,  if  I  may  make  such  a  comparison. 
The  child  knows  that  I  love  him,  and  he  desires  to  please 
me ;  but  sometimes,  forgetting  my  affection  and  his  duty,  he 
does  something  displeasing  to  me ;  but  the  poor  child  does 
not,  therefore,  doubt  that  I  am  his  "dear  father,"  as  he  calls 
me  ;  and  1  do  not  forget  that  he  is  "  my  child  ;"  but  I  hasten 
to  turn  his  heart  towards  me,  that  he  may  find  peace  and 
comfort.  Benjamin  can  easily  count  the  times  that  I  for- 
give him,  but  how  can  I  number  the  loving-kindnesses  of  the 
Lord  towards  me  ;  have  I  not  sufficient  ground  to  rest  my- 
self upon  the  mercy  and  loving-kindness  of  Him  who  says, 
"Fear  not,  for  1  have  redeemed  thee?"     Isa.  43  :  1. 

Minister.  Happy  old  man  !  Happy  believer  in  Christ ! 
You  seem  already  to  enjoy  a  foretaste  of  that  happiness 
which  is  to  come. 

Old  William.  Oh,  sir,  speak  to  me  only  of  the  mercy 
and  loving-kindness  of  my  Saviour — that  is  what  my  soul 
requires,  and  thirsts  to  hear.  Tell  me  that  the  treasures  of 
his  grace  and  long-suffering  are  inexhaustible — that  is  the 
ground  of  my  confidence.  Tell  me,  again  and  again,  that 
salvation  is  by  Christ  alone,  so  that  I  may  more  and  more 
desire  to  be  "  found  in  him."  Phil.  3  :  9.  Show  him  to 
me  "meek  and  lowly  in  heart,"  Matt.  11  :  29,  the  friend 


THE  TWO  OLD  MEN.  15 

of  sinners,  Matt.  11  :  19,  "the  Lamb  that  was  slain"  for 
me.  Rev.  5  :  12.  Show  me  these  things,  that  I  may  not 
dread  the  day  when  "he  shall  come  to  judge  the  world." 
Tell  me,  tell  me  that  Christ  died  for  me,  and  that  is  all  I 
wish,  all  that  I  can  require. 

{Minister.  Christ  himself  tells  you  this.  By  his  Holy 
Spirit  he  has  revealed  it  to  you  ;  and  he  will  increase  this 
assurance  every  day  and  every  hour  that  you  remain  in  this 
world.  Rejoice,  then,  happy  old  man,  because  your  name 
is  written  in  the  book  of  life.  Phil.  4:3;  Luke  10  :  20. 
Yet  a  little  while,  a  few  days  more,  and  you  will  be  removed 
to  the  place  prepared  for  you  in  your  "  Father's  house," 
John  14  :  2,  3,  and  the  love  of  Christ  shall  be  your  life 
eternal. 

"  May  these  things  be  so,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  [  must  now  leave  you,"  said  I,  "  but  I  rejoice,  with  the 
truest  joy  which  a  minister  of  Christ  can  possess,  that  there 
is  at  least  one  of  my  flock,  who  will  quit  this  world  of  sor- 
row to  enter  into  eternal  happiness." 

My  reader,  reflect  a  little  upon  this  narrative,  especially 
if  you  are  advanced  in  life. 

You  have  heard  the  sentiments  of  two  men,  two  of  your 
fellow-mortals,  whose  hour  of  death  was  at  hand,  and  whose 
souls,  like  yours,  will  never  die.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  choice 
with  us ;  but  whether  we  desire  it  or  not,  our  souls  must 
appear  before  the  judgment-seat  of  Christ.  These  two  men 
were  each  of  them  desirous  that  their  souls  should  enjoy 
happiness  in  the  world  to  come,  and  each  of  them  thought 
that  he  had  found  the  path  that  leadeth  to  life  eternal.  -But 
which  of  them  was  right?  Ask  yourself,  my  reader;  ask 
your  conscience,  for  it  is  certain  that  there  is  only  one  way 
by  which  we  can  obtain  eternal  happiness,  and  you  mus* 
have  seen  that  these  two  men  pursued  different  paths. 


16  THE  TWO  OLD  MEN. 

Was  that  man  right,  who,  trusting  in  his  fancied  good 
works,  and  full  of  his  own  righteousness,  had  the  name  of 
Jesus  on  his  lips  only,  and  not  in  his  heart ;  who  imagined 
that  every  one  who  called  himself  a  Christian  was,  in  reali- 
ty, a  follower  of  Christ  ? 

Or  do  you  think  him  right — that  pious  and  humble  man 
— who  had  placed  his  foundation  on  "  the  Rock  of  ages !" 
who  ascribed  all  the  glory  of  his  salvation  to  the  Saviour; 
and  who  trusted  only  in  his  blood,  shed  for  us  upon  the 
cross  ? 

Surely  you  cannot  doubt  on  this  subject.  Your  own 
heart  will  tell  you  that  the  latter  was  the  Christian,  and  that 
he  had  the  faith  which  saveth.  -» 

Haste,  then,  my  aged  friend,  haste,  while  there  is  yet 
time.  "  Now  is  the  accepted  time — now  is  the  day  of  sal- 
vation,"  2  Cor.  6:2;  but  it  is  fast  fleeing  away,  you  are 
now  at  the  "  eleventh  hour  ;"  hasten  and  cast  yourself  upon 
the  Lord  ;  give  your  heart  to  Him  who  alone  can  save;  and 
rest  your  hopes  of  salvation  on  Christ  alone,  and  not  upon 
yourself.  May  he  be  pleased  to  hear  you  ;  and  may  he,  by 
his  Holy  Spirit,  enable  you  to  come  unto  him,  who  has  de- 
clared, that  to  those  who  ask,  it  shall  be  given  ;  that  those 
who  seek  shall  find.      Matt.  7  :  7. 

Let  the  humble  Christian,  who  is  mourning  because  he 
is  not  able  to  feel  confident  and  assured  of  his  interest  in 
Christ,  not  be  discouraged  and  cast  down  ;  but  let  the  sense 
of  his  weakness  and  unbelief  drive  him  to  the  throne  of 
grace,  and  make  him  willing  to  derive  grace  and  strength 
from  that  fulness  which  is  treasured  up  in  Christ  Jesus.  Let 
him  remember  that  he  may  do  this.  The  words  of  the 
aposile  are,  "  casting  all  your  care  upon  Him,  for  he  careth 
for  you."  1  Pet.  5:7.  "  All  are  yours,  and  ye  ar^ 
Prist's,  and  Christ  is  God's."     1  Cor.  3  :  22,  23. 


NARRATIVE  XIV. 

CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE. 

A   MEMOIR 

OF 

THOMAS   HOGG. 


■  li^i 


On  the  Sabbath,  January  9,  18 — ,  as  I  was  proceeding 
in  the  services  of  the  day,  my  attention  was  attracted  by  a 
wretched  object  seated  in  the  nave  of  the  church.  There 
was  an  air  of  devout  seriousness  about  him,  under  all  the 
disadvantages  of  tattered  garments  and  squalid  appearance, 
which  afforded  a  favorable  presentiment  to  my  mind.  When 
the  service  was  over,  the  stranger  disappeared. 

Conceiving  that  he  was  a  poor  passing  beggar,  who  had 
been  allured  within  the  precincts  of  God's  temple  by  the 

VOL.   IV. 


2  CONTENTMENT  IN  HU2LBLE  LIFE. 

fire  in  the  stove,  I  made  no  inquiry  about  him.  To  my  as- 
tonishment, however,  on  the  following  Sabbath  the  same 
object  presented  himself,  and  took  his  station,  as  before, 
near  the  stove.  He  seemed  to  be  a  man  decrepit  with 
age:  his  head,  resting  upon  his  bosom,  which  was  partly 
exposed,  betokened  considerable  infirmity.  Under  a  coarse 
and  dirty  sackcloth  frock,  was  to>  be  seen  a  soldier's  coat 
patched  in  various  places,  which  was  strangely  contrasted 
with  the  cleanliness  of  his  shirt.  His  whole  appearance 
was  that  of  the  lowest  degree  of  poverty.  The  same  de- 
vout attention  to  the  services  of  the  day,  which  I  had  re- 
marked on  the  previous  Sabbath,  inspired  in  me  a  hope, 
that  he  was  a  spiritual,  though  humble  worshipper  of  that 
common  Father,  a  disciple  of  that  common  Saviour,  at 
whose  footstool  we  were  prostrating  ourselves  in  united 
adoration. 

When  the  service  was  concluded,  I  inquired  who  the  old 
man  was.  "  Sir,"  replied  my  informer,  "  he  is  a  person  who 
works  at  the  blacksmith's  shop;  he  is  a  remarkable  man, 
and  carries  about  with  him  a  Bible,  which  he  constantly 
reads." 

A  secret  pleasure  stole  through  my  heart  at  this  delight- 
ful intelligence ;  and  I  could  not  but  feel  gratified  at  the 
prospect  of  seeing  a  man,  who,  under  such  appearances  of 
misery,  made  the  word  of  God  his  companion  and  guide. 

Having  taken  an  early  opportunity,  in  the  course  of  the 
week,  to  pay  him  a  visit,  I  found  him  standing  by  the  side 
of  the  forge,  putting  some  links  of  iron  wire  together,  to 
form  a  chain  to  suspend  scissors.  The  impressions  of 
wretchedness  excited  by  his  first  appearance,  were  now 
greatly  heightened  by  the  soot,  which,  from  the  nature  of 
his  occupation,  had  necessarily  gathered  round  his  person. 
After  a  few  general  observations,  I  went  to  Mr.  H.  S.,  the 
master  of  the  shop,  and  from  him  learned  some  particulars 
of  the  poor  man's  history.  He  informed  me,  that  on  Tues- 
day the  4th  of  January,  in  the  severely  cold  weather  which 


CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE.  3 

then  prevailed,  this  destitute  object  came  to  his  shop,  al- 
most exhausted  with  cold  and  fatigue.      In  his  passage 

through  the  neighboring  village  of  P ,  he  had  been 

inhumanly  pelted  with  snow-balls  by  a  party  of  boys,  and 
might  probably  have  perished,  but  for  the  humanity  of 
some  respectable  inhabitants  of  the  place,  who  rescued 
him  from  their  hands.  Having  reached  Mr.  S.'s  shop,  he 
requested  permission  to  erect,  in  a  shed  which  adjoined  the 
shop,  his  little  apparatus,  consisting  of  a  slight  table,  with 
a  box  containing  his  tools.  The  benevolent  master  of  the 
premises  very  kindly  desired  him  to  come  in,  and  stationed 
him  near  the  forge,  where  he  might  pursue  his  work  with 
advantage  by  the  side  of  the  fire.  In  the  evening,  when 
the  workmen  were  about  to  retire,  Mr.  S.  asked  him  where 
he  intended  to  lodge  that  night.  The  old  man  inquired  ii 
there  were  any  ox- stall  or  stable  near  at  hand,  which  he 
might  be  permitted  to  occupy  ?  His  kind  benefactor  of- 
fered his  stable.  Accordingly,  the  poor  creature,  with  his 
box  and  table  upon  his  back,  accompanied  Mr.  S.  home, 
where  as  comfortable  a  bed  as  fresh  straw  and  shelter 
from  the  inclemency  of  the  weather  could  afford  was  made 
up.  One  of  Mr.  S.'s  children  afterwards  carried  him  some 
warm  cider,  which  he  accepted  with  reluctance,  express- 
ing his  fears  lest  he  should  be  depriving  some  part  of  the 
family  of  it. 

Early  the  next  morning  Mr.  S.  went  into  the  stable, 
and  asked  the  poor  stranger  how  he  was.  He  replied,  "  I 
am  very  happy."  Having  risen  from  his  straw  bed,  and 
dressed  himself — for  he  always  took  off  his  clothes  at  night, 
and  wrapped  himself  in  a  blanket  which  had  been  given 
him — he  soon  joined  his  hospitable  friend,  and  resumed  his 
post  by  the  side  of  the  forge.  This  station  Mr.  S.  humane- 
ly allowed  him  to  retain  as  long  as  he  needed  it,  and,  to 
his  honor  be  it  spoken,  he  contracted  so  great  a  regard  for 
the  good  old  man  as  to  be  unable  to  speak  of  him,  even  at 
this  time,  without  emotion.     I  have  heard  him  declare  that 


4  CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE. 

he  never  learned  so  complete  a  lesson  of  humility,  con- 
tentment, and  gratitude,  as  from  the  conduct  of  this  man. 
Little  did  he  think,  at  this  time,  how  soon  his  lonely  guest 
was  to  become  an  inhabitant  of  that  blissful  world  where 
there  is  neither  sighing  nor  sorrow,  "  where  the  wicked 
cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest."  Little 
did  he  think  that  so  soon  that  unsightly  and  despised  body 
should  be  gathered  to  its  dust,  to  be  fashioned  ere  long 
"  like  unto  Christ's  glorious  body,"  a  fit  casket  for  the  in- 
estimable jewel  of  a  soul  cleansed  in  the  blood  of  the  Re- 
deemer from  all  earthly  impurities,  and  made  "meet  for  the 
inheritance  of  the  saints  in  light."  What  a  lesson,  this,  on 
the  duty  of  prompt  and  cheerful  attention  to  the  wants  of 
the  stranger  and  the  destitute !  What  a  comment  on  the 
gracious  declaration  of  our  Saviour,  "  Inasmuch  as  ye  did 
it  unto  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  did  it  unto  me." 

The  poor  creature's  days  and  nights  continued  to  be 
passed  much  in  the  manner  above  described ;  with  the  ex- 
ception, that  he  had  exchanged  the  stable,  at  night,  for  the 
shop,  which  was  warmer,  and  in  which  Mr.  S.  permitted 
him  to  remain,  as  soon  as  he  was  satisfied  respecting  his 
principles.  He  daily  pursued,  with  exemplary  diligence, 
his  humble  employment  of  making  chains  and  skewers, 
although,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  he  was  unable,  even  with 
success  in  disposing  of  his  wares,  to  earn  more  than  six- 
pence or  sevenpence  a  day. 

Mr.  S.  added,  that  he  believed  him  to  be  a  sincere 
Christian ;  that  he  always  carried  a  Bible  with  him,  which 
he  used  attentively  to  read,  when  least  liable  to  interrup- 
tion ;  and  that  he  never  partook  of  any  of  his  slender  meals 
without  first  taking  off  his  hat,  and,  as  was  judged  from  his 
attitude  and  the  motion  of  his  lips,  imploring  the  blessing 
of  Him  who  clothes  the  lily  and  feeds  the  young  ravens, 
but  whose  special  mercies  are  reserved  for  those  who  put 
their  trust  in  him  ;  and  who  not  only  commands  us,  whether 
we  eat  or  drink,  or  whatever  we  do,  to  do  all  to  his  glory, 


CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE.  5 

but  encourages  even  the  most  afflicted  and  indigent  of  his 
faithful  followers  to  be  "  careful  for  nothing,  but  in  every- 
thing with  prayer  and  thanksgiving  to  let  their  requests  be 
made  known  unto  him,"  and  that  he  will  supply  all  their 
needs,  both  for  body  and  soul,  if  not  in  the  way  most  con- 
genial to  their  wishes,  yet  in  that  which  shall  most  conduce 
to  their  spiritual  and  eternal  welfare. 

This  poor  man's  conduct  was  uniformly  consistent  with 
his  Christian  profession.  Never  does  his  protector  recollect 
hearing  an  angry  word  or  a  murmuring  expression  from  his 
lips ;  although,  in  addition  to  his  bitter  poverty  and  priva- 
tions, he  was  frequently  tried  by  the  impertinent  curiosity 
and  irritating  remarks  of  persons  who  came  into  the  work- 
shop where  he  was  carrying  on  his  humble  operations. 

The  first  Saturday  which  he  spent  in  this  village,  Mr.  S. 
particularly  remarked,  that  at  an  early  hour  in  the  afternoon 
he  put  by  his  work,  and  began  to  hum  a  hymn-tune.  He 
asked  him  if  he  could  sing.  "No,  sir,"  he  replied.  "I 
thought,"  added  Mr.  S.,  "I  heard  you  singing."  "I  was 
only  composing  my  thoughts  a  little,"  said  the  good  man, 
"for  the  Sabbath."  What  a  contrast  to  the  busy  worldli- 
ness  which  so  often  devotes  the  Saturday  evening  to  more 
than  the  ordinary  fatigue  and  bustle  of  secular  pursuits, 
intrenching  on  the  very  limits  of  the  Sabbath,  and  unfitting 
both  the  mind  and  body  for  a  vigorous  discharge  of  its  du- 
ties, and  the  enjoyment  of  its  hallowed  pleasures !  How 
much  more  fervent  and  delightful  would  be  the  hours  of 
this  privileged  season,  if,  whenever  practicable,  Christians 
would  endeavor,  before  the  close  of  the  preceding  day,  to 
forget  their  worldly  cares,  and  to  attune  their  hearts  to  the 
spiritual  feelings  of  this  interval  of  sacred  rest ! 

On  receiving  the  communication  of  the  foregoing  partic- 
ulars, I  was  induced  to  return  to  the  poor  stranger,  with  a 
view  to  converse  with  him  a  little.  There  was  a  peculiar 
bluntness  in  his  manner  of  expressing  himself,  but  it  was 
very  far  removed  from  any  thing  of  churlishness  or  incivili- 

Eleg.  Nar.  28 


6  CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE. 

ty.  All  his  answers  were  pertinent,  and  were  sometimes 
given  in  such  measured  terms  as  quite  astonished  me.  The 
following  was  a  part  of  our  conversation :  "  Well,  my 
friend,  what  are  you  about?"  "Making  scissor-chains, 
sir."  "And  how  long  does  it  take  you  to  make  one?" 
With  peculiar  archness  he  looked  up  in  my  face,  for,  as  was 
before  observed,  his  head  always  rested  upon  his  bosom,  so 
that  the  back  part  of  it  was  depressed  nearly  to  the  same 
horizontal  plane  with  his  shoulders,  and  with  a  complacent 
smile,  said,  "  Ah !  and  you  will  next  ask  me  how  many  I 
make  in  a  day,  and  then  what  the  wire  costs  me,  and  after- 
wards, what  I  sell  them  for."  From  the  indirectness  of 
his  reply,  I  was  induced  to  conclude  that  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  making  something  considerable  from  his  employ- 
ment, and  wished  to  conceal  the  amount  of  his  gains.  But 
when  I  became  better  acquainted  with  his  manner,  and 
found  that,  after  his  utmost  exertion,  he  could  scarcely  ob- 
tain the  meagre  pittance  before  mentioned,  I  perceived  that 
his  apparent  reluctance  to  make  known  his  poverty,  pro- 
ceeded from  his  habitual  Christian  contentment.  I  next 
asked  him  why  he  followed  his  present  vagrant  life,  in 
preference  to  a  stationary  one,  in  which  he  would  be  better 
known  and  more  respected.  "The  nature  of  my  business," 
he  replied,  "  requires  that  I  should  move  about  from  place 
to  place,  that,  having  exhausted  my  custom  in  one  spot,  I 
may  obtain  employment  in  another.  Besides,"  added  he, 
"my  mode  of  life  has,  at  least,  this  advantage,  that  if  I 
leave  my  friends  behind  me,  I  leave  also  my  enemies." 
When  I  asked  him  his  age,  he  replied,  with  a  strong  and 
firm  voice,  "  That  is  a  question  which  I  am  frequently  asked, 
as  if  persons  supposed  me  to  be  of  a  great  age ;  why,  I  am 
a  mere  boy."  "A  mere  boy !"  I  repeated,  "and  pray, 
what  do  you  mean  by  that  expression ?"  "I  am  sixty-five 
years  of  age,  sir,  and  with  a  light  heel  and  a  cheerful  heart, 
hope  to  hold  out  a  considerable  time  longer."  Indeed,  he 
seemed  always  happy ;  even  in  the  period  of  his  subsequent 


CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE.  7 

extreme  suffering,  his  bosom  appeared  scarcely  capacious 
enough  for  his  joyful  feelings.  I  can  do  but  little  justice 
to  the  hilarity  of  his  heart,  for  it  was  a  matter  of  astonish- 
ment to  all  who  witnessed  it.  The  spring  of  his  cheerful- 
ness was  religion.  Nothing  seemed  to  damp  his  confidence 
in  God. 

The  divisions  which  distract  the  church  of  Christ  being 
alluded  to,  I  lamented  that  there  should  be  any  separation 
between  men  whose  hopes  and  interests  are  the  same.  He 
immediately  rejoined,  in  his  native  sprightly  manner,  "  No 
matter;  there  are  two  sides  to  the  river :"  intimating,  as  I 
concluded,  that  although  separated  for  a  time  by  the  waters 
of  discord  which  flow  between  them,  all  who  are  the  true 
servants  of  Christ  are  pursuing  the  same  direction,  and  will 
find  their  course  terminate  at  the  same  point.  There  were 
many  other  instances  of  his  readiness  in  reply,  which  have 
escaped  my  recollection. 

In  the  midst  of  the  din  of  business,  the  roaring  of  the 
forge  bellows,  and  the  deafening  noise  of  the  hammer  and 
anvil,  I  regret  that  I  had  but  little  opportunity  of  entering 
deeply  into  religious  subjects.  What,  however,  he  said, 
though  I  cannot  recollect  the  particulars,  gave  me  an  ex- 
alted idea  of  his  contentment,  cheerfulness,  and  genuine 
piety. 

Before  I  took  my  leave  of  him,  I  asked  how  long  he 
intended  to  remain  in  the  village.  He  answered,  "  I  do  not 
know ;  but  as  I  have  houseroom  and  fire  without  any  tax, 
I  am  quite  satisfied  with  my  situation,  and  only  regret  the 
trouble  I  am  occasioning  to  my  kind  host." 

From  that  period  to  the  20th  of  the  month,  being  much 
engaged  with  domestic  concerns,  I  saw  but  little  of  him. 
On  the  morning  of  that  day  I  met  him  creeping  along  under 
a  vast  burden,  having  previously  heard  that  he  had  set  out 
on  the  preceding  Monday,  on  a  journey  to  Bristol,  to  pro- 
cure a  fresh  stock  of  wire.  There  he  had  nearly  expended 
his  little  all ;  and,  with  half  a  hundred  of  wire  upon  his 


8  CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE.       ■ 

back,  and  three  half- pence  in  his  pocket,  the  sole  remains 
of  his  scanty  fund,  he  returned  on  foot  to  this  place.  He 
had  been  two  days  on  the  road,  and  had  passed  the  inter- 
vening night  before  a  coal-pit  fire  in  the  neighboring  village. 
The  snow  was  lying  deep  upon  the  ground,  and  the  scene 
was  altogether  desolate  beyond,  description.  I  was  glad 
once  more  to  see  him,  and  accosting  him,  inquired  if  ho 
were  not  very  tired.  "  A  little,  a  little,"  he  replied.  Then 
taking  off  his  hat,  he  asked  if  he  could  execute  any  thing 
for  me.  I  gave  him  an  order  for  some  trifling  articles, 
which  he  brought  to  me  on  the  following  Wednesday.  He 
came  to  my  house  just  as  I  was  engaged  on  particular  busi- 
ness ;  I  went  out,  however,  for  a  few  minutes,  and,  after  pay- 
ing him  for  the  articles,  entered  into  conversation  with  him. 
He  repeated  many  admirable  adages,  with  which  his  mem- 
ory appeared  to  be  well  stored,  and  incidentally  touched 
upon  the  word  cleanliness.  Immediately  I  added,  "  Clean- 
liness is.  next  to  godliness,"  and  seized  the  opportunity 
which  I  had  long  wanted,  but  from  fear  of  wounding  his 
mind,  hesitated  to  embrace,  to  tell  him  of  the  absence  of 
that  quality  in  himself.  He  with  much  good  nature  replied, 
"  I  believe  I  am  substantially  clean.  I  have  a  clean  shirt 
every  week ;  my  business,  however,  necessarily  makes  me 
dirty  in  my  person."  "  But  why  do  you  not  dress  more 
tidily,  and  take  more  care  of  yourself?  You  know  that 
God  has  given  us  the  comforts  of  life  that  we  may  enjoy 
them.  Cannot  you  afford  yourself  these  comforts  ?"  "  That 
question,"  said  he  emphatically,  but  by  no  means  rudely, 
"  you  should  have  set  out  with.  No,  sir,  I  cannot  afford 
myself  these  comforts." 

His  long  fustian  trowsers  concealed  nearly  the  whole  of 
his  foot ;  but  about  the  instep  I  thought  I  perceived  consid- 
erable inflammation,  and  made  inquiry  respecting  it.  "  Oh, 
it  is  nothing  particular,"  said  he ;  "  it  is  a  little  tender." 
Perceiving  that  he  had  a  miserable  pair  of  shoes  upon  his 
feet,  I  asked  him  if  he  thought  he  could  wear  a  pair  of 


CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE.  9 

mine.  He  said  lie  felt  obliged  to  me  for  my  kind  intention, 
but  he  would  not  trouble  me.  I  however  fetched  a  pair, 
and  with  much  persuasion  made  him  accept  them.  He 
expressed  himself  much  gratified ;  only  adding,  with  his 
accustomed  humility,  that  they  were  too  good.  I  mention 
these  circumstances,  in  themselves  trifling,  to  show  how 
very  different  was  the  conduct  of  this  poor  man  from  what 
might  have  been  expected  from  a  person  in  his  destitute 
condition.  I  am  persuaded  that  it  was  not  apathy  or  pride, 
but  a  far  higher  principle,  that  thus  had  taught  him,  in 
whatever  situation  he  was,  "  therewith  to  be  content.'* 

My  engagements  now  requiring  my  presence  elsewhere, 
I  left  the  poor  creature  for  the  present,  by  the  side  of  my 
kitchen  fire,  determining  to  see  him  the  next  day,  and  to 
have  some  farther  conversation  with  him. 

When  I  visited  him,  I  found  him  in  his  usual  station, 
working  upon  his  chains.  He  was  sitting — a  posture  in 
which  he  did  not  often  indulge.  I  requested  to  look  at  his 
foot,  for  it  was  turned  away  from  me  towards  the  wall. 
With  the  greatest  astonishment  and  alarm,  I  found  the 
whole  leg,  from  the  foot  to  the  knee,  very  black  and  prodig- 
iously swollen.  He  continued  to  manifest  his  usual  cheer- 
fulness. "I  must  insist,"  said  I,  "upon  your  allowing 
something  to  be  done  to  it.  The  doctor  is  expected  in  the 
village  to-day,  and  you  must  see  him;  I  will  give  orders 
for  him  to  call  upon  you."  "That  is  kind,  very  kind,"  he 
replied.  At  this  moment  some,  ignorant  prattler  in  the 
shop  was  exclaiming,  in  a  very  vexatious  and  offensive  man- 
ner, that  he  would  not  have  such  a  leg — taking  off  his  hat — 
for  that  full  of  guineas.  The  old  man  looked  up  somewhat 
sharply  at  him,  and  said,  "  Nor  I,  if  I  could  help  it."  The 
other,  however,  proceeded  with  his  canting,  when  the 
afflicted  creature  added,  "  You  only  torture  me  by  your 
observations."  This  was  the  only  instance  approaching  to 
impatience  witnessed  by  those  who  had  the  most  constant 
access  to  him. 

28* 


10  CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE. 

I  proposed  getting  a  bed  for  him,  for  I  found  that  of 
late  he  had  slept  in  one  corner  of  the  workshop  upon  the 
bare  earth,  without  his  clothes,  the  blanket,  as  customary, 
being  wrapped  round  his  shoulders.  We  wished  to  procure 
him  a  bed  within  some  habitable  abode ;  but  he  preferred 
remaining  where  he  was,  and  requested  us  only  to  provide 
for  him  some  clean  straw.  As  he  seemed  fixed  to  his  pur- 
pose, we  consented  to  comply  with  his  wish ;  and,  after 
arranging  every  thing  as  well  as  we  could  for  his  accommo- 
dation, I  mentioned  my  intention  of  immediately  sending 
him  some  warm  broth,  which  he  declined  with  his  usual 
answer,  "  I  have  had  enough  ;  it  would  be  intemperate."  I 
then  left  him  under  the  care  of  his  worthy  friend. 

The  next  morning  I  visited  my  patient  as  early  as  1 
could,  and  was  greatly  alarmed  to  find  that  the  swelling 
and  blackness  of  his  leg  had  increased,  and  were  now  ex- 
tending themselves  rapidly  towards  the  vital  parts  of  his 
body.  The  blood  which  had  oozed  from  his  wound  had 
literally  soaked  his  straw  bed,  and  his  leg  was  unprotected 
from  the  friction  of  the  straw,  and  was  exposed  to  the  cold 
air ;  for  his  extremities,  when  I  came  into  the  shop,  were 
entirely  naked.  He  was  at  times  delirious,  and  his  whole 
frame  was  in  a  degree  convulsed ;  but  he  dozed  during  the 
greater  part  of  the  day.  Nothing  could  exceed  this  picture 
of  misery !  Having  attended  to  his  immediate  wants,  1 
went  up  by  his  side,  and  gently  inquired  how  he  was.  From 
his  head  being  muffled  in  his  blanket,  he  did  not  hear  me. 
Mr.  S.  removed  the  clothes,  and  asked,  "  How  are  you  ?" 
"Happy,  happy!"  was  the  reply.  "I  am  truly  grieved, 
my  friend,"  I  said,  "  to  see  you  in  this  deplorable  condition. 
Are  you  suffering  much  pain?"  "I  am  sick,"  said  he, 
"  and  very  weak."  At  this  moment  the  arrival  of  the  med- 
ical gentleman  was  announced.  I  ran  to  him,  and  begged 
that  he  would  come  and  see  this  wretched  object.  He 
accompanied  me  back  to  the  workshop,  which  he  had  no 
sooner  entered,  than  I  perceived,  by  an  involuntary  gesture, 


CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE.  11 

that  lie  had  not  before  witnessed  many  such  objects  of  mis- 
ery, even  in  a  very  extensive  country  practice.  He  at  once 
informed  me  there  was  but  little  hope  of  life.  Warm  fomen- 
tations, and  large  doses  of  bark  and  port  wine,  he  said,  were 
the  only  remedies.  Of  course  no  time  was  lost  in  adminis- 
tering them.  I  had  previously  provided  a  bed  in  a  neigh- 
boring house,  and  informed  the  suffering  patient  of  my  wish 
to  remove  him  to  it,  and  my  anxiety  that  he  should  take 
the  medicines  prescribed.  He  very  meekly  submitted  to 
all  I  proposed,  saying  that  he  was  willing  to  take  any  thing : 
but  he  added,  "  One  night  more,  and  I  shall  be  beyond  this 
world." 

The  next  morning,  Saturday,  I  found  him  lying  in  the 
comfortable  bed  to  which  we  had  carefully  removed  him 
the  preceding  evening,-  in  his  usual  calm  and  contented 
frame  of  mind,  willing  to  live,  but  still  more  willing  to  die. 
I  cannot  describe  the  dreadful  appearance  which  his  whole 
body  now  assumed.  His  leg  was  again  fomented,  and  he 
partook  of  some  broth  with  eagerness,  but  his  dissolution 
was  evidently  drawing  near.  His  speech  was  almost  unin- 
telligible. Delirium  became  more  frequent,  and  his  hands 
were  often  apparently  employed  in  the  task  to  which  they 
had  been  so  long  habituated,  making  links  for  chains :  but, 
alas,  it  was  a  fruitless  effort,  no  wire  was  now  near  him,  no 
chains  were  the  result  of  his  labors.  By  addressing  him, 
you  seemed  for  a  moment  to  recall  his  mind  from  its  aber- 
rations, and  during  such  intervals  he  was  perfectly  collected. 
His  respiration  became  more  and  more  hurried.  Finding 
that  there  was  scarcely  a  ray  of  hope  of  preserving  his  life, 
I  requested  that  he  should  be  allowed  to  remain  quite  quiet 
upon  his  bed,  being  simply  supplied  with  what  sustenance 
was  necessary.  "After  his  attendants  were  gone,  I  sat  down 
by  his  bedside,  and  said  to  him,  "  I  am  afraid  you  are  very 
ill ;  but  I  trust  you  have  no  fears  respecting  your  future 
happiness,  should  it  please  God  to  summon  you  to  appear 
before  him  ?"     He  opened  his  eyes,  and  instantly  said, 


12  CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE. 

"  Fed  by  his  hand,  supported  by  his  care, 
I  scarce  can  doubt :  why  then  should  I  despair  2" 

"Ah,  my  friend,"  I  rejoined,  "  what  an  inconceivable  bless- 
ing it  is  to  have  the  Son  of  God  for  our  friend  !"  "  It  is,  it 
is !"  said  he,  in  a  tone  and  manner-  that  indicated  that  he 
was  accustomed  to  look  to  God  through  that  Divine  Medi- 
ator, and  that  he  was  practically  acquainted  wTith  the  truth 
of  that  scriptural  declaration,  To  them  that  believe,  Christ 
is  precious. 

Seeing  his  spectacles  lying  upon  his  pillow,  I  said, 
"  There  are  your  spectacles ;  but  I  do  not  think  they  have 
brought  your  Bible  :  I  dare  say  you  would  like  to  read  it?" 
" By  and  by,"  he  replied :  "I  am  pretty  well  acquainted 
with  its  contents." 

All  his  fire  had  now  expended  itself.  I  found  him  artic- 
ulate so  indistinctly,  and  he  appeared  so  exhausted,  that 
after  commending  him  to  the  protection  of  his  God  and 
Saviour,  I  took  my  leave  of  him.  As  I  was  departing,  he 
said,  "  You  have  done  your  duty  to  me,  I  can  say  it  with- 
out flattery." 

Alas  !  I  pray  God  to  pardon- my  coldness,  my  inactivity, 
my  general  remissness !  May  I  learn  more  diligently  to 
work  while  it  is  called  to-day,  since  the  night  cometh  in 
which  no  man  can  work !  Oh,  how  many  opportunities  of 
doing  or  receiving  good  do  we  suffer  to  pass  unimproved, 
not  knowing  their  value  till  they  are  for  ever  beyond  our 
reach ! 

On  Sabbath  morning,  the  knell  too  well  convinced  me 
that  my  humble  friend  was  no  more.  I  hastened  to  his 
chamber.  His  happy  spirit  had  fled  to  the  bosom  of  his 
Maker.  He  died  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  without 
a  sigh.  His  last  word  was,  in  answer  to  the  question,  How 
are  you  ?  "  Happy  " — a  happiness  built  upon  a  solid  foun- 
dation ;  for,  notwithstanding  his  afflictions  in  this  world,  the 
Saviour  was  his  friend,  the  Holy  Spirit  was  his  comforter, 
and  God  was  his  portion  and  exceeding  great  reward. 


CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMULE  LIFE.  13 

I  could  not  avoid  adverting,  in  my  discourses  on  that  day, 
to  the  happy  circumstances  of  this  departed  saint,  who, 
without  a  friend,  excepting  those  whom  Providence  had 
unexpectedly  raised  up  in  his  necessity,  and  without  any 
earthly  comforts,  had  so  completely  divested  himself  of 
every  murmur  and  complaint.  Surely,  nothing  but  divine 
grace  could  have  enabled  him  thus  to  triumph  in  tribulation. 
It  was  in  the  school  of  Christ,  as  I  have  before  remarked, 
that  he  had  thus  learned,  in  whatsoever  state  he  was,  there- 
with to  be  content. 

It  has  been  already  mentioned,  that  this  poor  man  was 
a  regular  frequenter  of  divine  worship,  and  a  diligent  reader 
of  that  holy  book  which  was  able  to  make  him  wise  unto 
salvation,  through  faith  that  is  in  Christ  Jesus.  I  add  with 
much  pleasure,  what  might  have  been  anticipated,  that  he 
was  also  "  a  man  of  prayer."  The  first  night  of  his  taking 
to  his  straw  bed,  being  exceedingly  indisposed,  he  retired 
before  the  men  had  left  their  work.  Mr.  S.  missed  him 
from  the  shop  for  a  considerable  time ;  and  going  into  an 
adjoining  storeroom  in  which  no  business  was  done,  he 
found  him  in  the  posture  of  devotion,  praying  to  his  "  Father 
who  seeth  in  secret.'7  This,  no  doubt,  was  his  constant 
practice ;  but  as  Mr.  S.  and  his  men  usually  quitted  their 
work  before  the  old  man  retired  to  rest,  his  habits  of  secret 
communion  with  God  were  now  for  the  first  time  discovered. 
He  was  one  of  the  last  of  men  to  sound  a  trumpet  before  him ; 
so  that  it  is  impossible  to  ascertain  to  what  extent  he  carried 
his  habits  of  prayer  and  reading  the  Scriptures,  in  addition 
to  those  sacred  meditations  which  doubtless  cheered  his 
mind  throughout  the  day,  in  the  midst  of  his  solitary  and 
monotonous  employment. 

In  an  early  stage  of  our  acquaintance,  I  had  learned  that 
he  had  a  considerable  taste  for  versification,  and  that  he 
used  occasionally  to  amuse  his  leisure  hours  by  composing 
a  poem.  My  first  step,  therefore,  after  his  decease,  was  to 
get  possession  of  his  manuscripts,  of  which  I  found  two 
VOL.  iv.  20 


14  CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE. 

books  of  considerable  thickness,  which  appeared  to  be 
duplicates.  From  them  I  was  confirmed  in  the  opinion,  if 
indeed  I  needed  any  farther  confirmation  than  what  my  own 
eyes  and  ears  had  witnessed,  that  his  religious  principles 
were  strictly  consonant  to  that  holy  book  which  he  so  much 
valued,  and  which  he  made  his  companion  and  guide.  In  a 
blank  leaf  of  his  Bible  is  written,  "  Thomas  Hogg,  born  in 
Jedburg,  1753. 

"  Yes,  dust  and  ashes  is  my  proper  name — 

*  Ready  to  perish,'  is  my  title  clear. 
From  two  poor  rebels,  I  their  offspring  came, 
My  first,  my  native  attribute  is  fear : 
Yet,  let  thy  love  on  this  dark  void  descend, 
All  shall  be  safe — the  Three  in  One  my  friend." 

The  poem  ends  with  a  prayer  to  be  "  built  up  in  wisdom 
and  usefulness." 

Upon  the  cover  of  the  book  in  which  he  has  entered  his 
poems,  I  find  the  following  passages :  "To  you,  0  men,  I 
call,  and  my  voice  is  to  the  sons  of  men."  Pro  v.  8:4. 
"  Hear,  for  I  will  speak  of  excellent  things."  Pro  v.  8 :  G. 
"  Thy  statutes  have  been  my  songs  in  the  house  of  my  pil- 
grimage." Psalm  119.  "And  they  sung  a  new  song." 
Rev.  5 :  9. 

I  regret  that  an  epitaph  which  he  composed  for  himself 
cannot  be  found.  He  once  repeated  it  to  Mr.  S.,  and  prom- 
ised to  give  him  a  copy  of  it ;  but  death  put  a  stop  to  that, 
as  well  as  to  many  other  intentions.  His  longest  poem, 
which  consists  of  nearly  two  thousand  lines,  is  entitled 
"  The  Flower  Knot,  or  Guidepost."  In  a  short  preface 
he  states,  that  "  twenty  lines  or  thereabouts  were  the  most 
he  could  compose  in  a  week ;  and  sometimes  he  had  written 
none  for  half  a  year  or  longer."  The  chief  subjects  of  his 
poem  are  thus  arranged  by  himself:  "  Introduction,  holiness, 
prudence  and  reason,  wit,  honesty  and  decency,  sympathy, 
gratitude,  hope,  humility,  temperance,  chastity,  passion, 
power,  truth,  wisdom,  love,  faith." 


CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE.  15 

The  particulars  which  I  have  been  enabled  to  gather  of 
my  humble  friend's  history,  in  addition  to  what  has  already 
been  related,  are  very  few.  He  was  a  namesake  of  the 
Ettrick  Shepherd,  and  a  fellow-countryman,  but  I  am  not 
aware  that  they  were  related.  He  was  brought  up,  I  find, 
in  a  religious  family ;  and  'in  his  youth  had  serious  im- 
pressions of  eternal  things  upon  his  mind.  These,  however, 
grew  feebler  by  intercourse  with  the  world,  although  they 
do  not  appear  ever  to  have  entirely  forsaken  him.  He  left 
his  home  at  an  early  period  of  life,  and  for  some  time  carried 
hardware  about  the  country.  This  business  becoming  un- 
productive, about  fourteen  years  since  he  took  to  the  em- 
ployment in  which  I  found  him  engaged,  making  scissor- 
chains  and  skewers.  Twenty-nine  long  years  had  passed, 
he  told  me,  since  he  had  visited  his'  native  place ;  nor  could 
I  learn  what  had  alienated  him  from  his  family  and  friends. 
A  hedge,  or  a  stable,  was  to  him  an  asylum  of  peace — the 
habitation  of  contentment ;  for  he  carried  that  tranquillity 
within  him  which  was  not  to  be  ruffled  by  the  adventitious 
circumstances  of  life.  The  vagrancy  of  his  life  necessarily 
exposed  him  to  much  hardship ;  and  his  pious  soul  must 
have  been  frequently  "vexed  with  the  filthy  conversation 
of  the  wicked.''  Whether  he  had  the  habit  of  boldly  re- 
proving the  sinner,  when  he  daringly  violated  the  laws  of 
his  God,  I  cannot  affirm,  not  having  been  present  on  any 
such  occasion ;  but,  judging  from  his  ordinary  freedom  in 
expressing  his  mind,  and  from  his  courage  in  sustaining  many 
of  the  ills  of  life,  I  should  imagine  he  would  suffer  few 
opportunities  to  pass  of  reproving  or  exhorting,  where  pru- 
dence and  discretion  marked  out  the  duty.  Sometimes, 
doubtless,  his  mind  must  have  been  depressed  by  anxious 
fears,  or  disappointed  hopes.  There  were  seasons  when  the 
"candle  of  the  Lord"  did  not  shine  so  clearly  upon  his 
path  as  at  other  times :  during  such  periods  he  used  to  sing 
Addison's  beautiful  version  of  the  23d  Psalm,  to  which  he 
added  a  verse  of  his  own  composition,  which  I  have  in  vain 


IQ  CONTENTMENT  IN  HUMBLE  LIFE 

endeavored  to  find.  He  called  it  the  Traveller's  Song.  It 
was  peculiarly  appropriate  to  his  own  case,  exposed  as  he 
was,  solitary  and  wandering,  with  none  to  look  up  to  for 
support  or  protection,  but  the  Helper  of  the  friendless. 

Thus  have  I  presented  a  faithful,  though  imperfect  his- 
tory of  a  poor  man,  who,  in  the  lowest  depths  of  poverty, 
evinced  such  remarkable  contentment  and  cheerfulness  under 
severe  sufferings,  as  may  well  excite  us  to  godly  jealousy, 
and  animate  us  to  aspire  after  like  precious  faith ;  a  man 
who  showed  no  symptoms  of  a  desire  to  hurry  from  life, 
yet  was  ready  at  all  times  to  obey  his  great  and  final  sum- 
mons, and  the  practical  language  of  whose  life  was,  "  To  me 
to  live  is  Christ,  to  die  is  gain." 

Reader,  how  does  this  simple  tale  call  upon  you  to  adore 
the  Father  of  all  mercies,  who  graciously  furnished  a  poor 
object,  in  the  lowest  depths  of  earthly  misery,  with  prin- 
ciples capable  not  barely  of  supporting  him,  but  of  enabling 
him  to  soar  far  above  the  afflictions  of  mortality !  No  one, 
I  feel  assured,  can  doubt  whence  this  man  obtained  his 
transcendent  faith.  It  was  of  no  common  stamp :  it  was 
not  the  spontaneous  growth  of  the  human  heart ;  it  must 
have  come  from  heaven. 

Permit  me,  then,  to  remind  you,  that  the  same  faith 
which  supported  him,  the  same  principles  by  which  he  was 
actuated,  may  be  obtained  by  you.  The  Divine  Spirit,  who 
implanted  them  in  the  subject  of  this  memoir,  offers  to  pro- 
duce them  in  you.  And  can  I  wish  you  a  richer  gift  ?  Can 
I  take  my  leave  of  you  in  a  more  affectionate  manner,  than 
by  praying  that  the  same  Spirit  would  make  you  like-minded 
with  this  humble  but  exemplary  follower  of  a  suffering  and 
crucified  Saviour  ? 


NARRATIVE  XV 


THE  WELL-CONDUCTED  FARM 


Mr.  B ,  a  respectable  farmer  in  Massachusetts,  came, 

a  number  of  years  ago,  into  the  possession  of  a  farm  of  six 
hundred  acres.  On  this  farm  he  employed  eight  orten  men. 
These  men  were  in  the  habit,  and  had  been  for  years,  of  taking 
each  a  portion  of  ardent  spirit,  when  they  labored,  every  day. 
They  had  grown  up  in  the  practice  of  taking  it,  and  the  idea 
was  fixed  in  their  minds  that  they  could  not  do  without.  It 
was  the  common  opinion  in  the  place,  that,  for  laboring  men, 
who  had  to  work  hard,  some  ardent  spirit  was  necessary.  Mr. 
B for  a  time  followed  the  common  practice,  and  furnish- 
ed his  men  with  a  portion  of  spirit  daily.  But  after  much  at- 
tentive observation  and  mature  reflection,  he  became  deeply 
impressed  with  the  conviction  that  the  practice  was  not  only 
useless,  but  hurtful.     He  became  convinced  that  it  tends 


2  THE  WELL-CONDUCTED  FARM. 

to  lead  men  to  intemperance;  to  undermine  their  constitu- 
tions; and  to  sow  the  seeds  of  death,  temporal  and  eternal. 
And  he  felt  that  he  could  not  be  justified  in  continuing  to 
cultivate  his  farm  by  means  of  a  practice  which  was  ruin- 
ing: the  bodies  and  souls  of  his  fellow-men.  He  therefore 
called  his  men  together,  and  told  them,  in  a  kind  and  faith- 
ful manner,  what  were  his  convictions.  He  told  them  that 
he  was  perfectly  satisfied  that  the  practice  of  taking  ardent 
spirits  was  not  only  needless,  but  hurtful — that  it  tended 
to  weaken  and  destroy  both-  the  body  and  mind ;  and  that 
he  could  not,  consistently  with  his  duty,  be  instrumental  in 
continuing  a  practice  which  he  had  no  doubt  tended  to 
destroy  them  both  for  this  world  and  the  world  to  come. 
He  therefore,  from  that  time,  should  furnish  them  with  no 
ardent  spirits. 

One  of  them  said  that  he  could  not  work  without  it ; 
and  if  he  did  not  furnish  them  with  it,  he  would  not  stay 

with  him.    "Very  well,"  said  Mr.  B ;  "  hand  me  your 

bill,  and  be  off."     The  man  replied,  that  he  presumed  all 

the  others  would  leave  him.    "Very  well,"  said  Mr.  B ; 

"  tell  them,  any  of  them  who  choose  to  leave — all  of  them, 
if  they  choose  to  go — to  hand  in  their  bills,  and  they  shall 
have  their  money  to-night.  If  they  stay,  however,  they 
shall  have  nourishing  food  and  drink,  at  any  time,  and  in 
any  abundance  which  they  wish ;  and  at  the  close  of  the 
year  each  one  shall  have  twelve  dollars,  that  is,  one  dollar 
a  month,  in  addition  to  his  wages.  But  I  shall  furnish  no 
spirits  of  any  kind,  neither  shall  I  have  it  taken  by  men 
in  my  employment.  I  had  rather  my  farm  would  grow  up 
to  weeds,  than  be  cultivated  by  means  of  so  pernicious  a 
practice  as  that  of  taking  ardent  spirits."  However,  none 
of  the  men  left,  except  that  one.  And  when  he  saw  that 
all  the  others  concluded  to  stay,  he  came  back,  and  said, 
that  as  the  others  had  concluded  to  stay,  and  do  without 
rum,  he  believed  that  he  could,  and  he  should  be  glad  to 

aay,  too,  if  Mr.  B had  no  objection.    But  he  told  him, 

No,  he  did  not  wish  him  to  stay ;  he  would  make  of  him  an 


THE  WELL-CONDUCTED  FARM.  3 

example,  and  he  must  go.  So  he  departed.  The  rest  went 
to  work,  and  he  furnished  them  with  no  spirits  from  that 
time  through  the  season.  Yet  his  work,  he  said,  was  done 
"  with  less  trouble,  in  a  better  manner,  and  in  better  season, 
than  ever  before."  Some  of  his  men,  however,  he  found, 
when  they  went  abroad,  did  take  ardent  spirits.  They  some- 
times procured  it  at  the  tavern,  or  a  store ;  and  in  some 
instances  took  it  secretly,  while  on  his  farm.  The  evil, 
therefore,  although  greatly  lessened,  was  not  entirely  done 
away. 

When  he  came  to  hire  men  again,  he  let  it  be  known 
that  he  did  not  wish  to  hire  any  man  who  was  not  willing 
to  abstain  entirely,  and  at  all  times,  from  the  use  of  ardent 
spirits.  His  neighbors  toM  him  that  he  could  not  hire 
men  on  those  conditions  ;  that  men  could  not  be  found 
who  would  do  without  rum,  especially  in  haying  and  har- 
vesting. Well,  he  said,  then  he  would  not  hire  them  at 
all.  His  farm  should  grow  up  to  weeds.  As  to  cultivating 
it  by  the  help  of  rum,  he  would  not.  By  allowing  men  in 
his  employment,  and  for  whose  conduct  he  was  in  a  meas- 
ure responsible,  to  take  ardent  spirits,  he  should  be  lend- 
ing his  influence  to  continue  a  practice,  or  he  should  at 
least  be  conniving  at  a  practice,  which  was  "  destroying 
more  lives,  making  more  mothers  widows,  and  children 
orphans,  than  famine,  pestilence,  and  sword :  a  practice 
which  was  destroying  by  thousands,  and  tens  of  thousands, 
not  only  the  bodies,  but  the  souls  of  men,  rendering  them, 
and  their  children  after  them,  wretched  for  this  world,  and 
the  world  to  come.  "  No,"  said  he,  "I  will  clear  my  hands 
of  this  enormous  guilt.  I  will  not  by  practice  encourage, 
or  by  silence,  or  having  men  in  my  employment  who  take 
ardent  spirits,  connive  at  this  deadly  evil."  However,  he 
found  no  difficulty  in  hiring  men,  and  of  the  best  kind. 
And  when  his  neighbors  saw,  that  by  giving  one  dollar  a 
month  more  than  others,  he  could  hire  as  many  men  as  he 
pleased,  they  gave  up  that  objection.  But  they  said,  it 
was  bad  policy ;  for  the  men  would  not  do  so  much  work, 


4  THE  WELL-CONDUCTED  FARM. 

and  he  would,  in  the  end,  be  a  loser.  But  he  told  them 
that,  although  they  might  not  at  first  do  quite  so  much,  he 
presumed  that  they  would  in  the  end  do  more.  But  if 
they  should  not,  only  let  them  do,  said  he,  what  they  easily 
can,  and  I  shall  be  satisfied.  My  Maker  does  not  require 
of  me  any  more  than  I  can  do  without  rum,  (for  he  used 
no  'ardent  spirits  himself)  and  I  shall  require  no  more  of 
them.  His  men  went  to  work.  And  his  business  prosper- 
ed exceedingly.  His  men  were  remarkably  uniform  in  their 
temper  and  deportment ;  still,  and  peaceable. 

He  found  them  every  day  alike,  and  he  could  always 
safely  trust  them.  What  he  expected  to  have  done,  he 
found  was  done,  in  good  season,  and  in  the  best  manner. 
His  men  never  made  so  few  mistakes,  had  so  few  disputes 
among  themselves ;  they  never  injured  and  destroyed  so 
few  tools,  found  so  little  fault  with  their  manner  of  living, 
or  were,  on  the  whole,  so  pleasant  to  one  another,  and  to 
their  employer.  The  men  appeared,  more  than  ever  be- 
fore, like  brethren  of  the  same  family,  satisfied  with  their 
business,  contented,  and  happy. 

At  the  close  of  the  year,  one  of  them  came  to  Mr. 

B ,  and,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  said,  "  Sir,  I  thought 

that  you  were  very  hard,  in  keeping  us  from  drinking  rum. 
I  had  always  been  accustomed  to  it,  and  I  thought  that  I 
could  not  do  without  it.  And  for  the  first  three  months," 
said  he,  "  it  was  hard,  very  hard.  I  had  such  a  caving  in 
here" — putting  his  hands  up  to  his  side — "  I  had  such  a 
desperate  caving  in  here,  that  I  thought  I  should  die.  But, 
as  you  gave  us  good  wages,  and  good  pay,  and  the  rest 
resolved  to  stand  it  without  rum,  I  thought  I  would. 

"And  now,"  said  he,  "I  am  well  and  happy.  I  work 
with  ease,  sleep  sweetly,  and  when  I  get  up  in  the  morn- 
ing, instead  of  having,  as  I  used  to,  my  mouth  and  throat" 
— to  use  his  own  words — "  so  full  of  cobwebs,  as  to  be  spit- 
ting cotton  ivool  all  the  time,  my  mouth  and  throat  are 
clear  as  a  whistle.  1  feel  active,  have  a  good  appetite,  and 
can  eat  any  tiling. 


THE  WELL-CONDUCTED  FARM.  5 

"  Formerly,  when  I  worked  hard,  I  was  at  night  tired, 
<tnd  could  not  sleep.  When  I  got  up  in  the  morning  I  was 
so  sore  and  stiff,  so  filled  up  in  my  throat,  and  my  appetite 
was  so  gone,  that  I  could  do  nothing  till  I  had  taken  a  glass 
of  rum  and  molasses.  I  then  stood  it  till  breakfast.  But 
my  breakfast  did  not  relish,  and  what  I  took  did  not  seem 
to  nourish  me.  Soon  after  I  got  to  work  I  was  so  hollow 
and  so  tired,  that  I  felt  desperate  ugly  till  1 1  o'clock.  Then 
I  took  a  new  vamper.  And  by  the  strength  of  that  I  got 
on  till  dinner.  Then  I  must  have  a  little  more  to  give  me 
an  appetite.  At  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  I  must  have 
recourse  " — these  were  his  words — "  to  the  hair  of  the  same 
dog,  to  keep  up  my  sinking  spirits.  And  thus  I  got  along 
till  night.  Then  I  must  have  a  little  to  sharpen  appetite 
for  supper.  And  after  supper  I  could  not  sleep,  till  I  had 
taken  another  nightcap. 

"Thus  I  continued,"  said  he,  "year  after  year,  under- 
mining a  constitution  which  was  naturally  very  robust ;  and 
growing  worse  and  worse,  until  1  came  under  your  wise  and 
excellent  regulations.  And  now,"  said  he,  "  I  am  cured.  I 
am  cured.  I  can  now  do  more  labor  than  when  I  took 
spirits,  without  half  the  fatigue,  and  take  nothing  stronger 
than  pure  cold  water.  If  a  man  would  give  me  the  same 
wages  that  you  do,  and  a  dollar  a  day  in  addition,  to  return 
to  the  practice  of  drinking  rum,  I  would  laugh  at  him." 
All  this  was  the  free,  spontaneous  effusion  of  his  own  mind, 
in  view  of  the  great  change  wrought  in  his  feelings  by  leav- 
ing off  entirely  the  use  of  ardent  spirits. 

Another  of  the  workmen  came  to  Mr.  B and  said, 

that  he  had  found  it  very  hard  to  do  without  rum  at  first ; 
but  he  could  now  freely  say,  that  he  never  enjoyed  so  good 
health,  or  felt  so  well,  as  he  did  then.  He  said  that  in  cold 
weather  in  the  winter,  and  after  chopping  all  day  in  the 
woods,  especially  if  exposed  to  rains,  or  if  his  feet  were  wet, 
he  had  for  a  long  time  been  accustomed  to  a  very  bad  rheu- 
matism, and  at  night  to  a  dreadful  headache.  He  took 
spirits  temperately,  and  he  supposed  it  was  necessary  to 

29* 


6  THE  WELL-CON  DUCTED  FARM. 

guard  him  against  these  evils.  Still  he  suffered  them ;  and 
he  found  nothing  that  would  prevent  them.  But  since  he 
had  left  off  entirely  the  use  of  spirits,  he  had  had  no  rheuma- 
tism, and  been  entirely  free  from  the  headache. 

Another  of  the  workmen  said  he  thought  at  first  that  lie 
could  do  very  well  without  spirits  three  quarters  of  the 
year ;  but  that,  in  haying  and  harvesting,  he  should  want  a 
little.  But  he  had  found  that  a  dish  of  bread  and  milk,  or 
some  other  nourishing  food,  at  11  o'clock,  answered  his 
purpose  at  all  times  just  as  well  as  grog,  and  he  thought  a 
little  better.  And  as  he  was  now  entirely  free  from  the  habit 
of  taking  spirits,  he  would  not  on  any  account  be  placed 
in  a  situation  where  he  should  be  tempted  to  renew  it. 

Such  were  the  feelings  of  men  who  had  always  been 
accustomed  to  the  practice  of  taking  spirits,  till  they  came 

into  Mr.  B 's  employment,  and  who  afterwards  had  not 

taken  a  drop.  They  had  tried  both  sides,  and  had  found, 
by  experience,  that  the  practice  of  taking  ardent  spirits  is 
utterly  useless  ;  nay,  that  it  is  positively  hurtful.  It  was 
their  united  testimony,  that  they  enjoyed  better  health, 
were  more  happy,  could  do  more  work,  and  with  less  fa- 
tigue, than  when  they  took  spirits. 

They  said,  to  be  sure,  that  they  found  it  hard  to  do 
without  it  at  first.  And  so  would  a  man  who  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  taking  laudanum,  or  any  poison,  that  was  not 
fatal,  but  was  stimulating  and  pleasant  to  the  taste,  however 
destructive  it  might  be  in  the  end  to  his  constitution.  But 
after  they  had  freed  themselves  from  the  habit  of  taking 
spirits,  they  found  no  inconvenience ;  but  were  in  all  respects 
better  than  they  were  before.  And  they  acknowledged  that 
they  were  exceedingly  indebted  to  him,  who,  by  his  wise 
regulations,  had  been  the  means  of  improving  their  condition. 
The  following  were  some  of  the  advantages  to  them. 

1.  They  had  a  better  appetite,  partook  of  their  food 
with  a  keener  relish,  and  it  was  more  nourishing  to  them 
than  before. 


THE  WELL-CONDUCTED  FARM. 


2.  They  possessed  much  greater  vigor  and  activity,  both 
of  body  and  mind. 

3.  They  performed  the  same  labor  with  much  greater 
ease ;  and  were  in  a  great  measure  free  from  that  lassitude 
and  fatigue  to  which  they  were  before  accustomed. 

4.  They  had  greater  wages,  and  they  laid  up  a  much 
greater  portion  of  what  they  had.  Before,  numbers  used 
to  spend  a  great  portion  of  their  wages  in  scenes  of  amuse-' 
ment  and  dissipation.  Now,  they  have  no  inclination  to 
frequent  such  scenes.  The  consequence  is,  they  lay  up 
more  money.  They  are,  also,  more  serious  in  their  deport- 
ment, spend  more  of  their  leisure  time  in  useful  reading, 
much  oftener  peruse  the  Scriptures,  and  attend  public  wor- 
ship ;  and  they  are  more  attentive  to  all  the  means  of  grace. 
In  a  word,  they  are  more  likely  to  become  useful  and  happy 
in  this  life,  and  to  be  prepared  for  lasting  blessedness  in  the 
life  to  come. 

5.  Their  example  will  be  more  likely  to  be  useful  to 
those  around  them ;  and  that  for  both  worlds. 

The  following  are  some  of  the  advantages  to  their  em- 
ployer. 

1.  The  men,  he  says,  in  the  course. of  the  year,  do  more 
work,  in  a  better  manner,  and  at  a  much  less  expense  of 
tools. 

2.  He  can  now  with  much  greater  ease  have  a  place  for 
every  thing,  and  every  thing  in  its  place. 

3.  When  a  stone  has  fallen  from  the  wall  it  is  now  laid 
up,  as  the  men  are  passing  by,  without  his  mentioning  it. 
The  gates  are  locked,  and  the  bars  put  up ;  so  that  the 
cattle  do  not,  as  before,  get  in  and  destroy  the  crops. 

4.  His  summer  work  is  done  in  such  season,  that  earth, 
loam,  etc.,  is  carted  into  the  yard  in  the  fall,  instead  of 
being  carted  in  in  the  spring,  as  before.  The  consequence 
is,  when  carried  out  it  is  richer,  and  renders  the  farm  more 
productive. 

5.  His  barns,  in  winter,  are  kept  clean,  and  less  fodder 


8  THE  WELL-CONDUCTED  FARM. 

is  wasted.     The  cattle  and  horses  are  daily  curried,  and 
appear  in  better  order. 

6.  When  his  men  go  into  the  forests,  instead,  as  before, 
of  cutting  down  the  nearest,  thriftiest,  and  largest  trees, 
they  cut  those  that  are  decayed,  crooked,  and  not  likely  to 
grow  any  better ;  pick  up  those  that  are  blown  down,  and 
thus  leave  the  forests  in  a  better  state. 
.  7%  The  men  are  more  uniform,  still,  and  peaceable ;  are 
less  trouble  in  the  house,  and  more  contented  with  their 
manner  of  living. 

8.  At  morning  and  evening  prayer,  they  are  more  ready 
than  before  to  attend,  and  in  season ;  appearing  to  esteem 
it  not  only  a  duty,  but  a  privilege  and  a  pleasure  to  be 
present,  and  unite  with  the  family  in  the  daily  worship  of 
God. 

9.  On  the  Sabbath,  instead  of  wishing,  as  before,  to  stay 
at  home,  or  to  spend  the  day  in  roving  about  the  fields, 
rivers,  and  forests,  they  choose  statedly  and  punctually  to 
attend  public  worship.  In  a  word,  their  whole  deportment, 
both  at  home  and  abread,  is  improved,  and  to  a  greater 
extent  than  any,  without  witnessing  it,  can  well  imagine. 

All  these  and  many  more  advantages  resulted  from  their 
abstaining  entirely,  and  at  all  times,  from  the  use  of  ardent 
spirits. 

Nor  were  the  benefits  confined  to  them  and  their  em- 
ployer. Some  of  his  neighbors,  witnessing  the  complete 
success  of  his  system,  have  themselves  adopted  it.     When 

Mr.  B went  into  that  part  of  the  country,  many  of  the 

farmers  in  his  neighborhood  were  in  debt.  Their  farms 
were  mortgaged,  some  for  $300,  some  for  $500,  and  some 
for  $1000,  or  more.  They  complained  much  of  hard  times, 
especially  for  farmers. 

Mr.  B told  them  that  so  long  as  they  continued  to 

drink  rum,  they  must  expect  hard  times ;  for  it  was  no 
profit,  but  a  great  expense,  and  in  more  ways  than  they 
imagined.     They  came  to  him  to  borrow  money  to  savp 


THE  WELL-UONDUCTEl)  FARM.  9 

their  farms  from  attachment.  But  he  told  them,  No.  It 
will  do  men  who  continue  to  drink  rum  no  good  to  have 
money.  Nay,  it  will  be  to  them  an  evil.  The  sooner  their 
property  is  gone,  and  they  have  nothing  with  which  to  buy 
rum,  the  better.  For  then  they  will  do  less  mischief  than 
if  they  have  money,  and  continue  to  drink  rum.  But,  said 
he,  if  you  will  leave  off  the  use  of  spirits,  and  not  take  a 
drop  for  three  months,  I  will  lend  you  money,  and  you  may 
keep  it,  by  paying  the  interest,  as  long  as  you  continue  to 
take  no  ardent  spirits.  But  when  I  learn  that  you  begin  to 
take  it,  I  shall  call  for  the  money.     Some  went  away  in 

disgust.     Others  said,  As  Mr.  B can  do  without  rum, 

why  cannot  we  ?  and  if  we  can,  it  will  be  a  great  saving  of 
expense.  They  made  the  experiment,  and  found  that  they 
could,  without  the  least  inconvenience,  do  without  it.    After 

a  few  months,  they  made  known  to  Mr.  B the  result ; 

and  he  helped  them  to  as  much  money  as  they  needed. 
They  continued  to  do  without  spirits,  and  they  had  none 
used  by  men  in  their  employment.  Their  business  began 
to  prosper,  and  their  prospects  to  brighten.  Their  debts 
are  now  paid,  and  their  farms  free  from  all  incumbrance. 
The  times  with  them  have  altered,  and  they  are  now  thriving, 
respectable,  and  useful  members  of  the  community. 

Others,  who  a  few  years  .ago  were  in  no  worse  a  con- 
dition than  they,  but  who  continued  the  practice  of  drink- 
ing spirits,  have  lost  their  farms ;  lost  their  reputation  ; 
lost  their  health,  and  eventually  their  lives ;  and  there  is 
reason  to  fear,  their  souls.  By  the  temperate  but  habitual 
use  of  spirits,  they  formed  an  intemperate  appetite.  This  at 
first  was  occasionally,  and  then  habitually  indulged ;  and 
they  were  ruined  for  both  worlds.  The  evil  may  extend  to 
their  children,  and  children's  children. 

But  those  who  have  entirely  relinquished  the  use  of 

spirits,  until  the  desire  for  it  is  removed,  have  experienced 

a  wonderful  transformation  in  their  feelings,  their  conduct, 

and  their  prospects.     And  the  change  is  visible  not  only  in 

them,  but  their  families,  and    all    their  concerns.      Their 

3# 


10  THE  WELL-CONDUCTED  FARM 

windows  are  not  broken  out  as  before ;  nor  their  gates  and 
garden-fences  falling  down.  The  kitchen  does  not  smoke 
as  it  used  to  do,  because  they  keep  it  more  clean,  have  drier 
and  better  wood,  and  lay  it  on  the  fire  in  a  better  manner. 
The  wife  does  not  scold  as  she  once  did,  because  she  is  well 
provided  for,  is  treated  kindly,  and  has  encouragement  to 
labor.  The  children  are  not  now  in  rags,  but  are  comfort- 
ably and  decently  clad ;  they  are  obedient,  respectful,  and 
mannerly ;  and  appear  to  be  growing  up  in  the  nurture  and 
admonition  of  the  Lord.  In  short,  they  uppear  almost  like 
a  new  race  of  beings.  And  if  they  should  never  again  adopt 
the  practice  of  taking  ardent  spirits,  there  is  vastly  more 
reason  than  before,  to  hope  that  they  will  be  led  by  the 
word  and  Spirit  of  God  to  such  a  course  of  conduct  as  will 
greatly  increase  their  happiness  and  usefulness  on  earth, 
and  be  the  means  of  preparing  them,  through  grace,  for  the 
everlasting  joys  of  heaven. 

Should  each  individual  in  our  country  adopt  the  same 
course,  the  following  are  some  of  the  advantages  which 
would  result  from  it. 

1.  They  would  enjoy  better  health,  be  able  to  perform 
more  labor,  and  would  live  to  a  greater  age. 

2.  The  evils  of  intemperance  would  soon  be  done  away : 
for  all  who  are  now  intemperate,  and  continue  so,  will  soon 
be  dead,  and  no  others  will  be  found  to  succeed  them. 

3.  There  will  be  a  saving  every  year  of  more  than 
thirty  millions  of  dollars,  which  are  now  expended  for 
ardent  spirits.  There  will  be  a  saving  of  more  than  two- 
thirds  of  all  the  expense  of  supporting  the  poor,  which,  in 
Massachusetts  alone,  would  amount  to  more  than  $600,000 
annually.  And  there  would  be  a  saving  of  all  that  idle- 
ness and  dissipation  which  intemperance  occasions,  and 
of  the  expense  of  more  than  two-thirds  of  all  the  criminal 
prosecutions  in  the  land.  In  one  of  our  large  cities,  in 
which  there  were  one  thousand  prosecutions  for  crimes, 
more  than  eight  hundred  of  them  were  found  to  have  sprung 
from  the  use  of  ardent  spirits. 


THE  WELL-UON  DUCTED  FARM  \  \ 

4.  There  would  be  a  saving  of  a  vast  portion  of  sick- 
ness ;  and  of  the  lives  probably  of  thirty  thousand  persons 
every  year. 

Let  these  four  considerations  be  added  together,  and 
traced  in  their  various  bearings  and  consequences  upon  the 
temporal  and  eternal  welfare  of  men;  and  then  let  each 
individual  say,  whether,  in  view  of  all  the  evils  connected 
with  the  practice  of  taking  ardent  spirits,  he  can,  in  the 
sight  of  God,  be  justified  in  continuing  the  practice.  That 
it  is  not  necessary,  has  been  fully  proved.  No  one  thinks  it 
to  be  necessary,  except  those  who  use  it.  And  they  would 
not  think  so,  if  they  were  not  in  the  habit  of  using  it.  Let 
any  man  leave  off  entirely  the  use  of  ardent  spirits  for  only 
one  year,  and  he  will  find  by  his  own  experience  that  it  is 
not  necessary  or  useful.  The  fathers  of  New  England  did 
not  use  it,  nor  did  their  children.  They  were  never,  as  a 
body,  in  the  practice  of  taking  it.  And  yet  they  enjoyed 
better  health,  attained  to  a  larger  stature,  and,  with  fewer 
comforts  of  life,  performed  more  labor,  endured  more 
fatigue,  and  lived,  upon  an  average,  to  a  greater  age  than 
any  generation  of  their  descendants  who  have  been  in  the 
practice  of  taking  spirits.  As  it  was  not  necessary  for  the 
fathers  of  New  England,  it  is  certain  that  it  is  not  necessary 
for  their  descendants,  or  for  any  portion  of  our  inhabitants. 
Hundreds  of  healthy,  active,  respectable,  and  useful  men, 
who  now  do  not  use  it,  can  testify  that  it  is  not  necessary. 
And  this  will  be  the  testimony  of  every  one  who  will  only 
relinquish  entirely  the  use  of  it. 

It  is  by  the  temperate  and  habitual  use  of  ardent  spirits, 
that  intemperate  appetites  are  formed.  And  the  temperate 
use  of  it  cannot  be  continued,  without,  in  many  cases,  form- 
ing intemperate  appetites  ;  and  after  they  are  formed,  mul- 
titudes will  be  destroyed  by  their  gratification. 

Natural  appetites,  such  as  are  implanted  in  our  consti- 
tution by  the  Author  of  nature,  do  not  by  their  gratification 
increase  in  their  demands.  What  satisfied  them  years  ago, 
will  satisfv  them  now.     But  artificial  appetites,  which  are 


12  THE  WELL-CONDUCTED  FARM. 

formed  by  the  wicked  practices  of  men,  are  constantly  in- 
creasing in  their  demands.  What  satisfied  them  once,  will 
not  satisfy  them  now.  And  what  satisfies  them  now,  will 
not  satisfy  them  in  future.  They  are  constantly  crying, 
"  Give,  give.^  And  there  is  not  a  man,  who  is  in  the  habit- 
ual use  of  ardent  spirits,  who  is  not  in  danger  of  dying  a 
drunkard.  Before  he  is  aware,  an  intemperate  appetite 
may  be  formed,  the  gratification  of  which  may  prove  his 
temporal  and  eternal  ruin.  And  if  the  practice  should  not 
come  to  this  result  with  regard  to  himself,  it  may  with 
regard  to  his  children,  and  children's  children.  It  may 
with  regard  to  his  neighbors,  and  their  children.  It  may 
extend  its  baleful  influences  far  and  wide ;  and  transmit 
them,  with  all  their  innumerable  evils,  from  generation  to 
generation. 

Can,  then,  temperate,  sober  men  be  clear  from  guilt,  in 
continuing  a  practice  which  is  costing  annually  more  than 
$30,000,000 ;  increasing  more  than  threefold  the  poor- 
rates,  and  the  crimes  of  the  country  ;  undermining  the 
health  and  constitution  of  its  inhabitants ;  and  cutting  off 
annually  thirty  thousand  lives  ! 

There  is  tremendous  guilt  somewhere.  And  it  is  a  truth 
which  ought  to  press  with  overwhelming  force  upon  the 
mind  of  every  sober  man,  that  a  portion  of  this  guilt  rests 
upon  every  one  who,  with  a  knowledge  of  facts,  continues 
the  totally  unnecessary  and  awfully  pernicious  practice  of 
talcing  ardent  spirits.  Each  individual  ought,  without  delay, 
in  view  of  eternity,  to  clear  himself,  and  neither  by  precept 
nor  example,  ever  again  encourage  or  even  connive  at  this 
deadly  evil. 


NARRATIVE   XVI. 

THE   SWISS  PEASANT.* 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  ORIGINAL  FRENCH  OF  REV.  CESAR 
MALAN,  OF  GENEVA. 


Ye  who  sincerely  desire  rest  for 
your  souls ;  who  would  rejoice  to 
have  peace  with  God,  and  to  be 
assured  of  his  love  towards  you; 
listen  to  a  simple  narrative  of 
scenes  which  I  have  witnessed. 

*  An  account  of  the  overwhelming  calamity  which  visited  the 
valley  of  Bagnes,  in*  the  canton  of  Valais,  in  Switzerland,  is  contain- 
ed in  the  Paris  "Moniteur,"  of  the  28th  June  and  2d  July,  1818. 
On  the  16th  June,  in  the  space  of  half  an  hour,  40  houses,  118  barns, 
10  mills,  22  granaries,  besides  a  great  number  of  shepherds'  huts,  etc. 
were  carried  away.  Many  individuals  also  perished  in  this  dreadful 
catastrophe. 

Eleg.  Nar.  30 


2  THE  SWISS  PEASANT. 

Is  it  possible  that  a  nation  can  dwell  in  wickedness,  and 
not  fear  that  Divine  justice  will  overtake  it?  The  concerns 
of  this  life  proceed  in  their  accustomed  course :  the  farmer 
pursues  his  labors,  the  tradesman  is  immersed  in  his  traffic, 
and  the  man  of  pleasure  follows  the  vanities  in  which  his 
soul  delights.  All,  outwardly,  appears  to  go  on  as  usual; 
the  same  hopes,  the  same  fears,  the  same  frivolous  and 
criminal  pursuits,  succeed  each  other  in  their  accustomed 
course.  Men  are  regardless  of  the  darkness  which  covers 
their  mind  ;  they  perceive  not  the  enmity  of  their  hearts 
against  God.  Surrounded  with  the  blessings  of  Providence, 
they  deny  Him  who  alone  is  the  author  and  giver  of  all  they 
enjoy.  But  God  has  seen  them.  "  Destruction  shall  come 
upon  the  workers  of  iniquity;"  yet,  "he  is  not  willing  that 
any  should  perish,  but  that  all  should  come  to  repentance." 
2  Pet.  3:9.  His  chastisements  are  sent  both  to  punish 
and  to  save. 

Thus  it  was  with  the  fertile  and  romantic  valley  of 
Bagnes ;  in  that  place  man  had  forgotten  his  Maker,  and 
was  asleep  in  prosperity.  Were  the  dwellers  in  this  val- 
ley more  wicked  than  the  inhabitants  of  other  valleys  in 
Switzerland  ?  Were  these  men  greater  sinners  than  those 
who  dwelt  in  other,  and  neighboring  countries,  and  who 
survived  to  be  witnesses  of  their  sufferings  ?  "  Think  ye  that 
they  were  sinners  above  all  men  that  dwelt  in  Jerusalem  ?" 
said  our  Lord  on  a  like  occasion ;  "  I  tell  you,  Nay ;  but  ex- 
cept ye  repent,  ye  shall  all  likewise  perish."  Luke  13:4,  5. 
He  is  the  all-poAverful  God,  and  all  things  are  subject  to  his 
control.  At  his  word,  immense  masses  of  ice  fell  from  the 
summit  of  a  neighboring  mountain ;  they  arrested  the  course 
of  a  rivulet  which  flowed  through  the  valley,  its  stream 
soon  swelled  into  a  lake,  and  an  immense  body  of  water 
was  restrained  only  by  a  feeble  barrier  of  ice.  Its  fall  was 
certain  and  near ;  devastation  and  ruin  to  the  valley  beneath 
inevitably  must  ensue. 

In  an  instant  the  flood  bounded  from  the  heights,  and 


THE  SWISS  PEASANT  3 

carrying  away  in.  its  foaming  waves  all  that  opposed  its 
course,  traversed  the  valley  as  a  swift  messenger  of  de- 
struction. Forests  were  torn  up  by  the  roots ;  fields  were 
laid  waste  ;  the  houses,  with  their  inhabitants,  and  their 
flocks  and  herds,  were  all  confounded  together  in  the  tor- 
rent. Many  immortal  souls  were,  in  an  instant,  either  called 
to  the  mansions  of  eternal  bliss,  or  reserved  for  the  day  of 
judgment  and  perdition  of  ungodly  men.  Bagnes  was  deso- 
lated ;  its  villages  and  fields  no  longer  exist.  Its  children 
aie  no  more.  Heavenly  Father!  have  the  few  who  sur- 
vived acknowledged  thy  hand  in  this  event — have  they  re- 
turned to  thee  ? 

Occupied  with  these  reflections,  I  wandered  over  the 
scene  of  desolation ;  and  as  I  paced  slowly  along,  I  looked 
around,  and  saw  an  aged  woman  sitting  near:  she  endeavor- 
ed to  rise  ;  "  Oh,  bestow  your  charity,"  said  she. 

"  Do  not  rise,  poor  woman  ;  you  appear  unhappy." 
"Oh,"  said  she,  "I  know  not  what  will  become  of  me." 
In  fact,  all  the  outward  appearances  of  misery  seemed, 
as  it  were,  united  and  present  before  me.  She  was  tall, 
and  a  threadbare  garment  scarcely  covered  her  form ;  her 
feet  were  bare,  and  one  of  them  severely  wounded ;  hei 
face  was  shrivelled  by  hunger  ;  her  eyes  hollow  and  dim  ; 
a  few  white  hairs  strayed  from  the  tattered  cloth  which 
covered  her  head ;  and  near  her,  upon  the  sand  left  by  the 
torrent,  was  a  bag  containing  a  few  scraps  and  morsels  of 
bread. 

"  Have  you  no  family  ?"  said  I ;  "  are  you  quite  alone, 
and  without  any  help  ?" 

"  My  last  surviving  son  died  twenty  years  ago,  and  I 
lived  with  my  grandson  near  the  village  of  Morgne  ;  but  I 
have  never  seen:  my  poor  grandchild  since  the  day  when 
the  wrath  of  heaven  fell  upon  us :  he  never  appeared  again : 
he  was  carried  away  with  his  dwelling.  His  wife  and  chil- 
dren are  now  living  nine  miles  from  hence,  among  the  moun- 
tains ;  they  could  hardly  find  enough  for  themselves,  so  I 


THE  SWISS  FEASANT. 


staid  in  this  place.  I  want  but  little,  and  have  but  a  short 
time  to  remain  here." 

"  But  a  short  time  !"  said  I  to  myself,  "  where  will  she 
go  when  called  hence?"  and  turning  to  her,  I  added,  "You 
then  think  you  have  not  long  to  live  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  looking  steadily  at  me,  "  the  days  of 
my  pilgrimage  are  nearly  ended,  and  I  feel  that  soon,  very 
soon,  I  must  appear  before  God."  She  groaned  deeply  as 
she  uttered  these  last  words. 

"  Well,  poor  woman,  I  hope  your  soul  is  prepared  to 
meet  your  God." 

"No,  sir,  I  fear  it  is  not;  and  this  troubles  me,  and 
takes- away  all  my  comfort." 

"  Do  you  desire  to  be  saved  ?  Would  you  escape  from 
the  wrath  to  come  ;  from  the  just  judgment  of  God  ?" 

"  0  yes,"  she  replied,  "I  do  desire  to  be  saved ;  and 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  she  exclaimed  with 
earnestness,  "  0  that  I  might  go  to  heaven !  but  I  know 
not  how." 

"  Have  you  long  thought  about  these  things  ?" 

"  One  evening,  about  two  years  ago,  a  stranger  stopped 
at  our  cabin,  and  remained  there  all  night.  He  spoke  much 
of  God  and  of  heaven ;  and  read  to  us  about  the  evil  of 
sin,  and  our  need  of  a  Saviour,  from  a  book  which  he  had 
with  him ;  and  several  times  he  spoke  to  me  particularly. 
During  the  night,  I  heard  him  praying  for  all  of  us,  and 
especially  for  the  aged  woman,  who,  he  said,  must  soon  ap- 
pear before  God.  He  left  us  at  break  of  day ;  I  think  I 
still  hear  his  parting  words ;  he  took  my  hand,  and  said, 
'  My  poor  friend,  the  hour  of  your  death  is  near ;  I  shall 
not  see  you  again  in  this  world.  Oh,  do  not  forget  the 
Saviour.  Seek  him,  seek  him  earnestly,  ivhile  he  may  be 
found.'  Since  that  day,  I  have  had  no  rest ;  his  words  are 
fixed  deep  in  my  heart.  I  feel  that  I  am  a  sinner  ;  I  have 
done  all  I  could,  but  I  am  still  under  condemnation." 

"What  sort  of  a  life  have  you  lived?" 


THE  SWISS  PEASANT.  5 

"  I  have  not  been  worse  than  my  neighbors,  but  God  is 
holy,  and  looks  at  the  heart.  I  am  too  great  a  sinner  to  go 
to  heaven,  and  I  know  not  what  to  do." 

"Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,"  said  our  gracious 
Saviour,  "for  they  shall  be  comforted."  Matt.  5  :  4.  This 
precious  promise  came  strongly  to  my  mind  while  the  poor 
woman  related  her  history.  I  seemed  to  hear  the  Saviour 
himself  calling  this  poor  wandering  sheep,  and  drawing  her 
to  him ;  and  I  fervently  implored,  that  He  who  opened  the 
heart  of  Lydia  would  open  the  heart  of  this  poor  woman ; 
then  looking  earnestly  at  her,  I  said, 

"  I  can  tell  you  what  you  ought  to  do — how  you  may 
be  delivered  from  the  burden  of  your  sins,  and  assured  of 
admission  to  heaven." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  she  exclaimed,  stretching  her  trembling, 
withered  hands  towards  me,  "  Oh,  sir,  pity  me !  pity  my 
gray  hairs ;  the  grave  is  ready  to  receive  me." 

"  No,  my  poor  friend,  not  before  Jesus  has  spoken  peace 
to  your  soul.  Listen  to  me.  Did  not  the  stranger  tell  you 
that  Christ  Jesus,  the  Son  of  God,  came  down  from  heaven 
to  save  sinners  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  said  many  things  about  him,  but  I  do  not  re- 
member them  all ;  I  only  recollect  that  he  told  us  there 
was  no  Saviour  except  the  Son  of  God,  and  that  if  a  sinner 
did  not  find  rest  in  Christ,  there  was  no  hope  for  him." 

u  Well,  my  friend,  do  you  believe  this,  or  do  you  think 
that  man  is  able  to  save  himself,  and  to  blot  out  his  sins  by 
his  own  good  works  ?" 

"  Once  I  thought  so.  Before  I  heard  this  stranger,  I 
thought  I  was  good  enough  to  please  God,  and  that  my 
good  deeds  would  do  away  my  offences.  But  now  I  see 
plainly  that  I  am  a  great  sinner,  and  that  I  cannot  myself 
procure  the  pardon  of  my  sins,  or  do  away  the  evil  I  have 
committed." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  this  ?     Have  you  tried  to  deliver  your- 
self from  the  puilt  of  sin  ?" 

30* 


6  THE  SWISS  PEASANT. 

"  I  have  done  all  that  any  mortal  can  do.  As  soon  as 
my  eyes  were  opened  to  see  my  sinful  state,  and  that  I  was 
under  the  curse  of  God's  holy  law,  I  was  terrified,  and  I 
determined  to  do  what  would  please  him.  From  that  day 
I  have  given  up  my  pleasures  and  my  former  pursuits.  I 
have  willingly  undergone  all  sorts  of  privations  and  suffer- 
ings. I  have  been  constant  in  attending  public  worship, 
and  regular  in  my  private  devotions ;  but  all,  all  is  useless. 
They  tell  me,  indeed,  that  I  am  sure  to  go  to  heaven ;  and 
they  call  me  a  saint ;  but  I  have  it  here — I  have  upon  my 
heart  and  conscience  a  burden  intolerable — a  horrible  dread 
which  overwhelms  me.  Oh,  deliver  me  from  this ;  take  it 
— take  it  away  from  me,  if  you  are  able." 

"  Christ  alone  is  able  to  deliver  you ;  he  is  able,  and  he 
is  willing ;  he  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners,  1  Tim. 
1  :  15;  to  give  rest  to  all  who  are  weary  and  heavy  laden. 
Go  to  him,  and  you  shall  find  rest  for  your  soul."  See 
Matt.  11  :  28-30. 

"  But  will  he,  can  he  receive  such  a  vile  creature  as  1 
am  ?  Often  would  I  have  gone  to  the  Saviour,  but  I  felt 
I  was  too  unworthy.  Yesterday  I  recollected  what  the 
stranger  told  us  of  the  prodigal  son,  and  I  wept  while  I 
thought  on  his  happiness.  Ah,  said  I,  how  happy  must  he 
have  been  in  his  father's  arms !" 

"  And  do  you  think  that  the  everlasting  arms  are  less 
ready  to  receive  you  than  the  prodigal  son?" 

"  To  receive  me !     Ah,  I  am  not  worthy." 

"  And  was  the  prodigal  worthy  ?  When  a  free  pardon 
is  offered,  there  is  no  question  about  what  we  deserve." 

The  poor  woman  looked  at  me,  anxious  to  understand 
my  meaning,  but  she  could  not. 

It  is,  indeed,  hard  for  the  heart  of  man  to  think  that  it 
is  possible  to  be  loved  of  God !  Speak  to  the  vilest  of  sin- 
ners of  the  necessity  of  obtaining  pardon  for  his  sins ;  and 
if  he  is  convinced  of  this,  he  will  readily  undergo  the  most 
severe  sufferings,  and  make  the  greatest  sacrifices.      But 


THE  SWISS  PEASANT.  7 

tell  him  of  free  pardon ;  tell  him  that  his  Creator,  that  God 
himself  has  become  his  Saviour,  and  is  ready  to  bestow 
upon  him  life  everlasting ;  he  will  not  believe  you — he  is 
not  willing  to  accept  pardon  on  these  terms.  He  cannot 
receive  the  free  mercy  of  God,  or  rather  he  rejects  it,  be- 
cause his  proud  heart  would  obtain  salvation  as  a  reward 
of  his  own  works ;  he  would  receive  it  as  a  recompense,  not 
as  a  free  gift. 

Here  Was  the  mistake  of  this  poor  woman.  Apparently 
taught  that  man  could  work  out  his  own  salvation  by  his 
own  strength,  she  had  persisted  in  this  fatal  error,  and  had 
not  the  remotest  idea  that  she  was  wrong.  I  saw  the  cloud 
which  darkened  her  understanding,  and  endeavored  to  re- 
move it. 

"  You  have  not,  then,"  said  I,  "  yet  learned  why  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  came  upon  earth." 

"  To  save  sinners,"  said  she. 

"  But  you  do  not  perceive  how  he  has  done  this ;  you 
know  not  that  he  has  died,  'the  just  for  the  unjust;'  that 
he  became  a  ransom  for  sinners.  He  saw  them  yet  afar  off, 
lost  and  helpless  in  their  sins,  when,  moved  by  an  all-power- 
ful love,  which  passeth  man's  understanding,  he  took  upon 
himself  their  iniquity,  and  bore  their  sins  in  his  own  body 
on  the  tree.  He  has  borne  the  burden  from  which  he  de- 
livered them.  Christ  hath  redeemed  us  from  the  curse  of 
the  law,  being  made  a  curse  for  us."     Gal.  3:13. 

" Happy  are  those  whom  he  has  redeemed!" 

"  Yes,  they  are  truly  happy ;  and  I  trust  you  will  find 
this  happiness.  If  you  believe  in  Christ,  you  will  share  in 
his  favor  and  his  love." 

u  What,  is  it  possible  that  the  Saviour  can  love  me,  and 
receive  and  pardon  me?" 

"  Why  not  you,  when  he  says,  '  Whosoever  will,  let  him 
take  of  the  water  of  life  freely  V  When  you  have  believed 
in  him,  you  will  find  that  he  has  loved  you  with  an  everlast- 
ing love.     '  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man 


8  THE  SWISS  PEASANT. 

lay  down  his  life  for  his  friends.'  John  15  :  13.  And  did 
not  he  lay  down  his  life  for  you ;  yes,  even  for  you,  when 
he  died  on  the  cross  ?     Do  not  you  believe  this  ?" 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  Did  he  die  for  me  ?  For  my  sins  ; 
for  mine  ?" 

"  Why  was  he  smitten  of  God  and  afflicted,  Isa.  53  :  ^ 
if  not  for  poor  sinners  such  as  you  and  I  ?  Who  can  need 
more  than  we  do,  that  a  Saviour  should  interpose  between 
us  and  the  justice  of  the  Most  High  ?  And  since*  it  is  writ- 
ten, that  Christ  came  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  is  lost, 
Luke  19  :  10,  since  he  died  for  the  chief  of  sinners,  1  Tim. 
1  :  15,  was  it  not  forme,  was  it  not  for  you,  lost  and  ruined 
by  nature  and  practice,  that  he  laid  down  his  life  upon  the 
cross?" 

0  blessed  Gospel  of  Christ,  the  message  of  peace  and 
life  eternal,  who  can  understand  and  declare  thy  power ! 
What  words  can  describe  the  emotions  which  passed  over 
the  countenance  of  this  poor  sinner,  weary  and  heavy  lade? 
with  the  burden  of  her  sins,  and  beginning  to  hope  for  par- 
don and  deliverance ! 

Language  cannot  express  the  joy  which  this  poor  soul 
felt,  when  touched  by  the  power  of  God.  The  day  of  her 
salvation  was  come.  She  thought  of  her  sins,  and  was 
troubled ;  but  she  mourned,  and  was  in  bitterness.  She 
thought  of  her  enmity  to  God ;  but  she  could  be  his  enemy 
no  longer.  She  thought  of  the  spirituality  of  his  law ;  but 
she  delighted  in  the  law  of  God  after  the  inward  man.  She 
thought  she  could  forsake  all,  and  follow  Christ,  and  sub- 
mit herself  to  his  authority  and  grace.  Her  eyes  were 
opened ;  her  heart,  for  the  first  time,  tasted  the  love  of 
Christ ;  the  Holy  Spirit,  the  Comforter,  now  taught  her  to 
call  Jesus  the  Lord. 

"Then  may  I  believe  that  Christ  died  for  me?"  said 
she,  still  appearing  fearful  to  think  so. 

"Do  you  doubt  this?  Do  you  desire  to  refuse  the 
benefits  of  our  Redeemer's  sacrifice  ?" 


THE  SWISS  PEASANT.  9 

"  Oh  no ;  the  happiness  of  believing  in  him  is  too  great 
to  be  rejected." 

She  was  silent  some  minutes.  Engaged  in  reflection 
upon  these  truths,  she  appeared  deeply  moved.  At  length 
she  clasped  her  hands,  and  bursting  into  tears,  exclaimed, 
"  Then  I  am  saved  !  the  Saviour  died  for  my  sins,  though  I 
knew  it  not.    O  blessed  news  !  this  indeed  is  consolation  !" 

She  then  leaned  forward,  and  rested  her  head  upon  her 
hands.  Tears  trickled  down  her  arms,  and  fell  upon  her 
garments  as  she  uttered  the  words,  "Heavenly  Father, 
Jesus,  Saviour,"  mingled  with  her  sobs.  At  length  raising 
herself,  she  said,  "Then  Christ  has  become  my  ransom. 
0  my  God,"  she  added,  raising  her  eyes  towards  heaven, 
"  thou  hast  had  compassion  upon  me,  aged  and  wretched 
as  I  am.  Thou  hast  not  suffered  me  to  go  down  to  the 
grave  ignorant  of  thy  love  and  pardoning  mercy.  0  what 
love,  what  exceeding  love  !" 

"  His  love  is  indeed  great,  '  in  that  while  we  were  yet 
sinners,  Christ  died  for  us/  Rom.  5:8.  Ought  we  not 
then  to  love  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  love  him,  and  will  strive  to  serve  him.  Ah, 
sir,  if  you  could  but  see  what  passes  within  me ;  I  seem  as 
just  awakened  from  sleep,  and  as  if  I  was  delivered  from  a 
mountain  which  weighed  down  my  soul.  This,  then,  was 
what  the  stranger  meant,  when  he  told  me  I  must  be  '  born 
again.'  Let  me  go,"  added  she,  rising,  "let  me  go  and 
declare  these  things  to  my  granddaughter  and  her  children. 
Would  that  my  poor  son  had  known  them  before  he  died." 

"My  mother,"  said  I,  "leave  your  son  in  the  hands  of 
the  Most  High,  and  haste  and  tell  your  grandchildren  what 
a  Saviour  you  have  found.  Go  and  declare  it  abroad  during 
the  short  time  you  have  to  remain  here,  before  you  go  hence 
to  Him  who  has  loved  you  with  such  exceeding  love.  De- 
clare that  you  were  a  sinner,  that  you  sought  to  obtain 
salvation  by  your  own  strength ;  but  that  your  only  depend- 
ence is  now  on  your  Saviour  Christ ;  now  you  believe  in 
vol.  v.  20 


1 0  THE  SWISS  PEASANT. 

him,  and  are  persuaded,  from  his  own  words,  that  he  was 
sacrificed  for  you ;  and  that  his  blood,  shed  for  the  sins  of 
many,  has  washed  away  your  stains.  Go,  my  poor  friend, 
and,  during  the  short  interval  which  yet  separates  you  from 
your  God,  consecrate  yourself  to  his  service ;  offer  to  him 
what  he  has  given  to  you,  a  new  heart,  a  heart  now  filled 
with  joy  and  consolation,  even  as  he  has  imparted  it  to  you 
this  very  day." 

"May  it  be  so,"  said  she;  "may  God  be  pleased  to 
direct  me:  I  am  but  a  poor  peasant,  ignorant  of  every 
thing ;  but  he  will  instruct  me." 

"  And  it  is  by  this  book  he  will  teach  you,"  replied  I, 
giving  her  a  New  Testament ;  "  this  is  the  book  the  stranger 
read  ;  it  contains  all  that  I  have  this  day  told  you  of  Jesus, 
and  his  love  for  us.  It  contains  the  declaration  of  the  eter- 
nal and  unchangeable  love  of  God.  All  that  your  soul  can 
desire,  or  your  heart  can  wish,  are  here.  Yes,  all  know- 
ledge and  understanding ;  all  truth,  life,  and  peace ;  and 
happiness  both  for  this  world  and  that  which  is  to  come ; 
all  is  declared  in  this  blessed  book  ;  and  may  God,  whose 
eye  now  beholds  us,  himself  teach  you  to  understand  it." 

She  took  the  book,  without  replying ;  kissed  it,  and 
pressed  it  to  her  heart.  I  took  her  by  the  hand  ;  and  after 
a  few  moments  turned  away,  thinking  I  should  see  her  no 
more  in  this  world. 

She  called  after  me,  "  Shall  we  not  meet  again  in  heav- 
en ?"  "  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  trust  both  you  and  I  are  tending 
thitherward." 

She  then  shall  be  saved  at  the  last  day,  thought  I.  0 
heavenly  Father,  may  thy  holy  name  be  glorified  in  these 
mountains !  Blessed  Saviour,  may  thy  all-powerful  voice 
be  heard  calling  thy  children  unto  thee.  Be  pleased  thyself 
to  lead  this  solitary  sheep.  Thou  hast  revealed  thyself  to 
her ;  be  ever  present  with  her,  strengthening  her  soul.  O 
make  her  path  straight,  and  cause  her  to  walk  steadily 
(herein. 


THE  SWISS  PEASANT.  1 1 

She  shall  go  therein,  the  Christian  will  say,  in  whose 
heart  Christ  is  formed  the  hope  of  glory ;  being  satisfied 
that  it  is  when  we  are  united  to  him  that  we  truly  love  and 
serve  him.  She  is  a  child  of  his  kingdom,  and  shall  walk  in 
the  path  of  the  just,  which  shineth  more  and  more  unto  the 
perfect  day.  The  righteousness  of  Christ,  the  precious 
blood  he  shed  upon  the  cross,  have  made  her  free,  and  she 
is  no  longer  under  condemnation.  Christ  has  suffered  for 
her ;  she  has  believed,  and  has  this  witness  in  herself.  See 
1  John,  5:10.  The  burden  which  oppressed  her  is  taken 
away,  and  instead  of  sorrowfully  crying,  "  Who  shall  deliver 
me  from  mine  affliction  ?"  she  has  learned  to  ascribe  praises 
to  the  Lamb  of  God,  who  has  washed  her  from  her  sins  in 
his  own  blood.     See  Rev.  1:5. 

The  love  of  God  brought  these  things  to  pass,  and  in  his 
love  she  will  dwell,  living  unto  him  who  hath  redeemed  her. 
Let  the  unbeliever  or  the  scoffer  of  our  day  assert  that  it  is 
dangerous  thus  to  declare  a  free  salvation  to  sinners.  Let 
them  say  that  it  is  buoying  up  with  false  hopes ;  and  that 
to  announce  pardon  "without  money  and  without  price,' ' 
telling  them  that  faith  alone  can  justify,  is  to  invite  to  licen- 
tiousness, and  will  only  wrap  them  up  in  carnal  security. 
Mistaken  indeed !  They  are  ignorant  that  the  knowledge 
of  Christ  is  life  everlasting;  that  he  will  abide  with  the 
heart  that  openeth  unto  him,  Rev.  3  :  20  ;  and  that  the  soul 
which  has  tasted  that  the  Lord  is  gracious,  which  has  con- 
templated Christ  dying  upon  the  cross,  the  just  for  the 
unjust,  cannot  live  unto  sin,  seeing  that  sin  ^rucified  the 
Lord  of  glory.  They  know  not  that  the  desire  of  the  be- 
liever is  to  live  according  to  the  will  of  Christ. 

Had  they,  like  me,  seen  this  poor  woman  brought  to 
the  knowledge  of-  the  Saviour  and  his  love ;  had  they  seen 
her  countenance,  worn  with  care  and  anxiety,  at  once  en- 
lightened by  that  peace  and  hope  which  the  Saviour  alono 
can  give ;  had  they  heard  the  voice  with  which  she  bade 
me  farewell  as  to  this  world  ;  they  could  not,  if  open  to 


12  THE  SWISS  PEASANT 

conviction,  assert  that  these  things  are  dangerous  to  the 
souls  of  men. 

As  for  myself,  I  trust  that  this  poor  woman  was  led  by 
the  teaching  of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  believe  in  him  who  justi- 
fies the  ungodly.  See  Rom.  4:5.  If  she  Was  enabled. truly 
to  believe  in  Christ  crucified,  she  has  been,  by  this  faith, 
put  into  possession,  through  hope  of  the  world  that  is  to 
come,  of  an  eternal  inheritance. 

And  if  you,  my  reader,  sincerely  desire  to  partake  of 
this  salvation,  you  have  no  cause  to  despair  of  pardon. 
This  poor  woman  believed  in  Christ,  and  was  delivered  from 
her  fears.  Do  you  also  give  your  heart  to  Jesus  Christ ; 
repent  of  and  forsake  your  sins  ;  submit  yourself  unto  God  ; 
and  he  will  impart  to  you  his  righteousness,  and  that 

PEACE  WHICH  THE  WORLD  CANNOT  GIVE. 


THE  STORM  HUSHED. 

*Tis  past — the  dreadful  stormy  night 

Is  gone,  with  all  its  fears ! 
And  now  I  see  returning  light, 

The  Lord,  my  Sun,  appears. 

Oh,  wondrous  change  !  but  just  before, 

Despair  beset  me  round ; 
I  heard  the  lion's  horrid  roar, 

And  trembled  at  the  sound. 

Before  corruption,  guilt,  and  fear, 

My  former  comforts  fell ; 
A  nd  I  discover'd,  standing  near, 

The  dreadful  depths  of  hell. 

But  Jesus  pitied  my  distress, 

He  heard  my  feeble  cry, 
Reveal'd  his  blood  and  righteousness, 

And  brought  salvation  nigh. 

Dear  Lord,  since  thou  hast  broke  my  bands, 

And  set  the  captive  free, 
I  would  devote  my  tongue,  my  hands, 

My  heart,  my  all  to  thee.  N«wtoo 


NARRATIVE  XVII. 
THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 


M. ,  a  merchant,  at  the  head  of  one  of  the  first  com- 
mercial houses  in  Paris,*  had  occasion  to  visit  the  manufac- 
tories established  in  the  mountainous  tracts  of  the  depart- 
ments of  the  Loire  and  the  Puy-de-D6me.  The  road  that  con- 
ducted him  hack  to  Lyons  traversed  a  country  rich  in  natural 
productions,  and  glowing  with  all  the  charms  of  an  advanced 
and  promising  spring.  The  nearer  view  was  unusually  diver- 
sified, not  only  by  the  fantastic  forms  of  mountains,  the  un- 
certain course  of  small  and  tributary  streams,  and  the  varying 
hues  of  fields  of  pasture,  corn,  vines,  and  vegetables,  but  by 
the  combinations  and  contrasts  of  nature  and  of  art,  and  the 
occupations  of  rural  and  commercial  industry.  Factories 
and  furnaces  were  seen  rising  amidst  barns  and  sheep-cotes  ; 
peasants  were  digging,  and  ploughs  gliding,  amidst  forges 
and  foundaries ;  verdant  slopes  and  graceful  clumps  of  trees 

*  An  American  gentleman,  then  residing  in  that  capital. 

Elep.  Nar.  31 


i>  THE  VILLAGE  IX  THE  MOUNTAINS 

were  scattered  amidst  the  black  and  ugly  mouths  of  ex- 
hausted coal-pits  ;  and  the  gentle  murmur  of  the  stream 
was  subdued  by  the  loud  rattle  of  the  loom.     Sometimes 

M. and  his  friend  halted  amidst  all  that  is  delightful 

and  soothing ;  and,  after  a  short  advance,  found  themselves 
amidst  barrenness,  deformity,  and  confusion.  The  remoter 
scenery  was  not  less  impressive.  Behind  them  were  the 
rugged  mountains  of  Puy  de  Dome ;  the  lofty  Tarare  lifted 
its  majestic  head  beside  them,  and  far  before  appeared  the 
brilliant  summit  of  Mont  Blanc. 

In  this  state  of  mind  he  arrived  at  the  outskirts  of  a 
hamlet,  placed  on  the  declivity  of  a  mountain ;  and  being 
desirous  of  finding  a  shorter  and  more  retired  track,  he 
stopped  at  a  decent-looking  dwelling-house  to  inquire  the 
way.  From  the  windows  several  females  were  watching 
the  movements  of  a  little  child ;  and  just  as  M. in- 
quired for  a  road  across  the  mountains,  the  infant  was  in 
danger  of  being  crushed  by  a  coal-cart  which  had  entered 
the  street.  The  cries  and  alarms  of  the  females  were  met 
by  the  activity  of  the  travellers,  and  the   companion  of 

M. set  off  to  snatch  the  infant  from  danger,  and  place 

him  in  security.     An  elderly  female,  from  the  second  story, 

gave  M. ,  who  was  still  on  his  horse,  the  directions  he 

desired  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  expressed  her  uneasiness 
that  the  gentleman  should  have  had  the  trouble  to  seek 
the  child. 

"  Madam,"  interrupted  M. ,    "  my  friend  is  only 

performing  his  duty:  we  ought  to  do  to  another  as  we 
would  that  another  should  do  to  us ;  and,  in  this  wretched 
world,  we  are  bound  to  assist  each. other.  You  are  kind 
enough  to  direct  us  travellers  in  the  right  road,  and  surely 
the  least  we  can  do  is  to  rescue  your  child  from  danger. 
The  Holy  Scriptures  teach  us  these  duties,  and  the  Gospel 
presents  us  the  example  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who, 
when  we  were  in  ignorance  and  danger,  came  to  our  world 
to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  was  lost." 


THE  VILLAGE  L\  THE  MOUNTAINS.  3 

"  Ah !  sir,'*  replied  the  good  woman,  "  you  are  very 
condescending,  and  what  you  say  is  very  true ;  but  your 
language  surprises  me:  it  is  so  many  years  since  in  this 
village  we  have  heard  such  truths,  and  especially  from  the 
lips  of  a  stranger.' ' 

"Madam,"  resumed  M. ,  "  we  are  all  strangers  here, 

and  sojourners  bound  to  eternity  ;  there  is  but  one  road,  one 
guide,  one  Saviour,  who  can  conduct  us  safely ;  if  we  feel 
this,  young  or  old,  rich  or  poor,  we  are  all  one  in  Christ ;  and, 
however  scattered  on  earth,  shall  all  arrive  at  the  heavenly 
city,  to  which  he  is  gone  to  prepare  mansions  for  us." 

"  These  doctrines,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  female,  "  support 
the  hearts  of  many  of  us,  who  have  scarcely  travelled  be- 
yond our  own  neighborhood ;  and  it  is  so  rare  and  so  de- 
lightful to  hear  them  from  others,  that,  if  it  will  not  be  an 
abuse  of  your  Christian  politeness,  I  would  request  you  to 
alight,  and  visit  my  humble  apartment." 

"I  shall  comply  most  cheerfully  with  your  request," 

replied  M. ;  "for,  though  time  is  precious,  I  shall  be 

thankful  to  spend  a  few  minutes  in  these  mountains,  among 
those  with  whom  I  hope  to  dwell  for  ever  on  Mount  Sion." 

M. mounted  to  the  second  story,  followed  by  his 

companion.  He  found  the  female  with  whom  he  had  con- 
versed, surrounded  by  her  daughters  and  granddaughters, 
all  busily  employed  in  five  looms,  filled  with  galloons  and 
ribbons,  destined  for  the  capital,  and  the  most  distant  cities 
of  the  world.  The  good  widow  was  between  sixty  and 
seventy  years  of  age ;  her  appearance  was  neat ;  and  all 
the  arrangements  of  her  apartment  bespoke  industry,  fru- 
gality, and  piety.     "Ah!  sir,"  she  exclaimed,  as  M.  

entered,  "  how  happy  am  I  to  receive  such  a  visitor  !" 

"Madam,"  replied  M. ,  "I  am  not  worthy  to  enter 

under  this  roof." 

"Why,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  widow,  "you  talked  to  us 
of  Jesus  Christ,  and " 

"  Yes,  madam,  but  I  am  a  poor,  guilty  sinner,  and  hope 


4  THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

only  for  salvation  through  the  cross.  I  was  yesterday  at 
St. ,  where  they  were  planting  a  cross  with  great  cer- 
emony ;  were  you  there  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  for  it  is  of  little  use  to  erect  crosses  in  the 
streets,  if  we  do  not  carry  the  cross  in  our  hearts,  and  are 
,not  crucified  to  the  world.  But,  sir,  if  you  will  not  be 
offended,  may  I  ask  what  you  are  called  ?" 

M. ,  giving  a  general  sense  to  the  French  phrase- 
ology, answered,  "  My  name,  madam,  is ." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  I  shall  not  forget ;  but  this  is  not 
what  I  meant :  I  wished  to  know  whether  you  are  Protest- 
ant or  Catholic — a  pastor  or  a  priest?" 

"  Madam,  I  have  not  the  honor  to  be  either ;  I  am  a 
merchant :  I  desire  to  be  a  Christian,  and  to  have  no  other 
title  but  a  disciple  of  Christ." 

"  That  is  exactly  as  we  are  here,  sir,"  exclaimed  the 
good  widow,  and  added,  "  but,  as  you  are  so  frank,  are 
you,  sir,  Catholic,  or  Protestant  ?" 

"  Catholic,"  replied  M. .     Madam  looked  confused, 

and  observed,  "  that  it  was  rare  for  the  Catholics  to  talk  as 
her  visitor  had  done." 

"  I  am  a  Catholic,"  resumed  M. ,  "but  not  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Roman  Catholic  church.  I  love  all  that  love 
our  Lord  Jesus  in  sincerity.  I  do  not  ask  in  what  fold 
they  feed,  so  that  they  are  guided  and  nourished  by  the 
good  Shepherd  and  Bishop  of  souls." 

"  0,  what  a  favor  the  Lord  has  granted  us,  to  meet 
with  a  Christian  like  ourselves,"  said  the  affected  widow, 
looking  round  her.  "  We  desire  to  live  in  charity  with  all 
mankind ;  but,  to  be  frank  also,  sir,  we  do  not  go  to  mass, 
nor  to  confession,  for  we  do  not  learn  from  our  Testament, 
which  is  indeed  almost  worn  out,  that  we  are  required  to 
confess  to  sinners  like  ourselves,  nor  to  warship  the  host, 
nor  to  perform  penance  for  the  salvation  of  our  souls ;  and 
we  believe  we  can  serve  God  acceptably  in  a  cave,  or  in  a 
chamber,  or  on  a  mountain." 


THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  £ 

"  I  confess,  madam,  in  my  turn,,?  said  M. ,  "  that  I 

am  exceedingly  astonished  to  find  such  persons  on  such  a 
spot :  pray,  how  many  may  there  be  of  your  sentiments  ?" 

"  Here,  sir,  and  scattered  over  the  mountains,  there  are 
from  three  to  four  hundred.  We  meet  on  Sabbath  even- 
ings, and  as  often  as  we  can,  to  pray  to  Jesus,  to  read  the 
Testament,  and  to  converse  about  the  salvation  of  our  souls. 
We  are  so  much  persecuted  by  the  clergy,  that  we  cannot 
appear  as  publicly  as  we  wish.  We  are  called  beguines* 
and  fools ;  but  I  can  bear  this,  and  I  hope  a  great  deal  more, 
for  Him  who  has  suffered  so  much  for  us." 

While  the  conversation,  of  which  this  is  a  sketch,  was 
passing,  the  rooms  had  filled,  the  neighbors  had  been  in- 
formed and  introduced,  at  the  request  of  the  worthy  host- 
ess ;  and  as  many  as  could  quit  their  occupations  pressed 

to  hear  of  the  things  of  the  kingdom  of  God.     M. 

desired  to  see  the  New  Testament.  It  was  presented.  The 
title-page  was  gone,  the  leaves  were  almost  worn  to  shreds 

by  the  fingers  of  the  weavers  and  laborers,  and  M. 

could  not  discover  the  edition.     A  female  of  respectable 

appearance  approached  M. ,  and  said,  "  Sir,  for  several 

years  I  have  sought  everywhere  a  New  Testament,  and  I 
have  offered  any  price  for  one  in  all  the  neighboring  vil- 
lages, but  in  vain.  Could  you,  sir,  possibly  procure  me  a 
copy  ?     I  will  gladly  pay  you  any  sum  you  demand " 

"  Madam,  I  will  not  only  procure  you  one,1'  replied 

M. eagerly,  "  but,  in  forty- eight  hours,  I  will  send 

you  half  a  dozen." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?"  exclaimed  the  astonished  villagers. 
"  May  we,  sir,  believe  the  good  news  ?  May  we  rely  on 
your  promise  ?  It  appears  too  great — too  good.  We  will 
pay  for  them  now,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"  You  may  depend  on  receiving  them,"  said  M. , 

"if  God  prolongs  my  life.     But  I  entreat  you  to  do  me  the 

#  Religious  enthusiasts. 
31* 


6  THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAL\S. 

favor  to  accept  them,  as  a  proof  of  my  Christian  regard,  and 
an  expression  of  my  gratitude  for  having  been  permitted  to 
enjoy,  in  this  unpromising  spot,  the  refreshing  company  of 
the  followers  of  Christ.' ' 

The  conversation  then  turned  on  the  value  of  the  sacred 
volume,  and  the  sinfulness  of  those  who  withhold  it  from 
perishing  and  dejected  sinners.  After  some  time,  the 
hostess  inquired,  "  Pray,  sir,  can  you  tell  us  if  any  thing 
extraordinary  is  passing  in  the  world?  We  are  shut  out 
from  all  intercourse ;  but  we  have  an  impression  that  God 
is  commencing  a  great  work  in  the  earth,  and  that  wonder- 
ful events  are  coming  to  pass." 

"  Great  events  have  taken  place,  and  news  is  arriving 

every  day,"  said  M. ,  "  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  of 

the  progress  of  the  Gospel,  and  the  fulfilment  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures."  He  then  gave  to  his  attentive  and  enraptured 
auditory  an  outline  of  the  moral  changes  accomplished  by 
the  diffusion  of  the  Bible,  the  labors  of  missionaries,  and 
the  establishment  of  schools ;  but  only  such  an  outline  as 
was  suited  to  their  general  ignorance  of  the  state  of  what 
is  called  the  religious  world.  And  when  he  had  concluded, 
they  all  joined  in  the  prayer,  "  Thy  kingdom  come,  thy  will 
be  done  on  earth,  as  it  is  done  in  heaven."    Anxious  as  was 

M. to  pursue  his  journey,  he  devoted  three  hours  to 

this  interview.  He  exhorted  them  to  receive  and  practise 
only  what  they  found  in  the  Scriptures,  and  to  cleave  to 
the  Lord  with  full  purpose  of  heart. 

The  termination  of  this  extraordinary  meeting  was  most 
affecting :  tears  of  pleasure,  gratitude,  and  regret,  streamed 
from  the  eyes  of  the  mountaineers  ;  and  the  traveller,  though 
more  deeply  moved  by  having  seen  the  grace  of  God,  than 
by  all  the  scenes  through  which  he  had  passed,  went  on 
his  way  rejoicing,  and  following  the  directions  of  the  good 

widow,  he  arrived  at  the  town  of  S .     In  this  town  he 

had  correspondents  among  the  principal  inhabitants  and 
authorities,  and  under  the  impression  of  all  he  had  wit- 


THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  7 

nessed,  he  inquired,  as  if  with  the  curiosity  of  a  traveller,  the 
name  of  the  hamlet  he  had  passed  on  the  mountains,  and 
the  nature  of  the  employments,  and  the  character  of  its 
inhabitants. 

"The  men,"  said  the  mayor,  "work  in  the  mines,  drive 
the  teams,  and  labor  in  the  fields;  and  the  women  and 
children  weave.  They  are  a  very  curious  people,  outrgs 
illumines,  new  lights,  but  the  most  honest  work-people  in 
the  country — probity  itself.  We  have  no  occasion  to  weigh 
our  silk,  either  when  we  give  it  out  or  take  it  in ;  for  we 
are  sure  not  to  lose  the  value  of  a  farthing ;  and  the  kindest 
creatures  in  the  world ;  they  will  take  their  clothes  off  their 
backs  to  give  to  any  one  in  distress :  indeed,  there  is  no 
wretchedness  among  them ;  for,  though  poor,  they  are  in- 
dustrious, temperate,  charitable,  and  always  assist  each 
other;  but  touch  them  on  their  religion,  and  they  are 
almost  idiots.  They  never  go  to  mass  nor  confession ;  in 
fact,  they  are  not  Christians,  though  the  most  worthy  peo- 
ple in  the  world — and  so  droll :  imagine  those  poor  people, 
after  working  all  the  week,  instead  of  enjoying  the  Sunday, 
and  going  to  a  fete  or  a  ball  to  amuse  themselves,  meeting 
in  each  other's  houses,  and  sometimes  in  the  mountains,  to 
read  some  book,  and  pray,  and  sing  hymns.  They  are  very 
clever  work-people,  but  they  pass  their  Sundays  and  holi- 
days stupidly  enough. " 

This  testimony,  so  honorable  to  his  new  acquaintance, 

was  confirmed  to  M. from  several  quarters ;  and  he 

learned  from  others,  what  he  had  not  been  told  by  them- 
selves, that,  besides  their  honesty  and  charity,  so  great  is 
their  zeal,  that  they  flock  from  the  different  hamlets,  and 
meet  in  the  mountains,  in  cold  and  bad  weather,  at  eight 
or  nine  o'clock  "at  night,  to  avoid  the  interruption  of  their 
enemies,  and  to  sing  and  pray. 

These  accounts  were  not  calculated  to  lessen  the  inter- 
est excited  in  the  breast  of  M. ,  and  immediately  on 

his  arrival  at  Lyons,  he  dispatched  six  copies  of  the  New 


8  THE  VILLAGE  L\  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

Testament,  and  some  copies  of  the  Tract  entitled  "  Les 
Deux  Vieillards"  The  Two  Old  Men.     Some  time  after 

his  return  to  Paris,  M. received,  through  one  of  his 

correspondents  at  Lyons,  a  letter  from  the  excellent  widow 
with  whom  he  had  conversed.  Of  this  letter,  a  literal 
translation  is  subjoined ;  the  modesty,  dignity,  and  piety 
of  which  not  only  evince  the  influence  of  true  religion,  but 
will  satisfy  the  reader,  that,  in  this  narration,  no  exagger- 
ated statement  has  been  made  of  the  character  of  these 
mountaineers. 

"  Sir — I  have  the  honor  to  write  you,  to  assure  you  of 
my  very  humble  respects,  and  at  the  same  time  to  acknow- 
ledge the  reception  of  the  six  copies  of  the  New  Testament 
which  you  had  the  goodness  and  the  generosity  to  send  us. 
My  family,  myself,  and  my  neighbors,  know  not  how  ade- 
quately to  express  our  sincere  gratitude ;  for  Ave  have  noth- 
ing in  the  world  so  precious  as  that  sacred  volume,  which 
is  the  best  food  of  our  souls,  and  our  certain  guide  to  the 
heavenly  Jerusalem. 

"  As  we  believe  and  are  assured  that  the  Spirit  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  could  alone  have  inspired  you  with  the 
desire  to  distribute  the  sacred  Scriptures  to  those  who  are 
disposed  to  make  a  holy  use  of  them,  we  hope  and  believe 
that  the  divine  Saviour  will  be  himself  your  recompense ; 
and  that  he  will  give  to  you,  as  well  as  to  all  of  us,  the 
grace  to  understand  and  to  seek  a  part  in  his  second  com- 
ing ;  for  this  ought  to  be  our  only  and  constant  desire  in 
the  times  of  darkness  and  tribulation  in  which  we  live. 

"  It  is  with  this  view,  sir,  that  I  entreat  you  to  have  the 
goodness  to  send  six  more  copies  of  the  sacred  volume  for 
several  of  my  friends,  who  are  delighted,  not  only  with  the 
beauty  of  the  type,  but  especially  with  the  purity  of  the 
edition ;  for  it  is  sufficient  to  see  the  name  of  Monsieur  le 
Maitre  de  Sacy,  to  be  assured  that  this  edition  is  strictly 
conformable  to  the  sacred  text.     Sir,  as  the  persons  who 


THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  9 

have  charged  me  to  entreat  you  to  send  six  more  copies  of 
the  New  Testament  would  be  sorry  to  abuse  your  generos- 
ity, they  also  charge  me  to  say,  that  if  you  accomplish  their 
wishes,  as  your  truly  Christian  kindness  induces  them  to 
hope,  and  will  mark  the  price  on  the  books,  they  shall  feel 
it  to  be  a  pleasure  and  duty  to  remit  you  the  amount,  when 
I  acknowledge  the  arrival  of  the  parcel.  Could  you  also 
add  six  copies  of  the  little  Tract,  entitled  *  Les  Deux  Vieil 
lards  V 

"  I  entreat  you,  sir,  to  excuse  the  liberty  I  have  taken, 
and  to  believe  that,  while  life  remains,  I  am,  in  the  Spirit 
of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 

"  Your  very  humble  servant, 

"The  Widow " 

The  reception  of  this  letter  revived  in  M. that  live- 
ly interest  which  he  had  been  constrained  to  feel  for  the 
prosperity  of  these  happy  villagers.  Often  had  he  called 
to  mind  the  Christian  kindness  with  which  they  received 
him,  and  often  had  he  presented  his  ardent  prayer  to  the 
God  of  grace,  that  he  who  "  had  begun  a  good  work  in 
them,"  would  carry  it  on  to  "  the  day  of  Jesus  Christ." 

Instead  of  complying  with  the  request  of  this  venerable 
woman  to  send  her  six  copies  of  the  New  Testament,  he 
sent  her  twenty,  authorizing  her  to  sell  them  to  such  as 
were  able  to  pay ;  but  to  present  them,  at  her  own  discre- 
tion, to  those  who  were  desirous  of  obtaining  them,  and 
had  not  the  means  to  purchase,  "  without  money  and  with- 
out price."  With  these  he  also  presented  to  the  widow,  as 
a  mark  of  his  Christian  affection,  a  Bible  for  her  own  use, 
together  with  a  dozen  copies  of  the  Tract  which  she  had 
requested,  and  several  other  religious  books.  In  acknow- 
ledging this  unexpected  bounty,  she  thus  replied,  in  a  letter 
dated  July  17,  1821 : 

"  Respected  Friend  and  Brother  in  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ — It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  satisfaction  that 
vol.  VI. 


10  THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

my  heart  experienced  on  the  arrival  of  the  kind  communi- 
cations which  you  have  been  pleased  to  send  me.  I  could 
not  help  reading  over  and  over  again  the  letters  enclosed, 
which  afford  fresh  proof  of  the  desire  of  yourself  and  your 
friends  to  contribute  to  the  advancement  of  the  reign  of 
the  divine  Redeemer.  I  cannot  find  words  to  express  the 
happiness  I  have  derived  from  perusing  the  entire  copy  of 
the  Old  and  New  Testament,  which  you  beg  me  to  accept 
as  an  expression  of  your  Christian  affection.  I  was  more 
gratified  and  edified  by  this  mark  of  your  regard,  as  it  was 
my  intention  to  have  requested,  in  my  last  letter,  some 
copies  of  the  Old  Testament ;  but  I  dared  not  execute  my 
design,  for  fear  of  abusing  your  Christian  kindness  and 
charity.  The  Old  and  New  Testament,  properly  under- 
stood, are  but  one  Testament ;  such  is  the  connection  of 
the  sacred  books — for  the  New  Testament  is  the  key  to 
the  Old,  and  the  Old  the  same  to  the  New.  In  innu- 
merable passages  of  the  Old  Testament,  the  birth,  death, 
and  glory  of  our  divine  Redeemer  are  announced,  in 
terms  more  or  less  distinct.  In  reading  the  prophecies 
of  Jeremiah  and  Isaiah,  we  perceive  that  these  prophets 
spoke  of  our  Saviour  almost  as  though  they  had  lived 
with  him  on  the  earth.  His  second  coming  is  also  fore- 
told in  many  passages,  especially  in  the  prophecies  of 
Ezekiel  and  Daniel. 

"  The  box  which  your  Christian  generosity  has  sent,  has 
excited  universal  joy  in  the  hearts  of  all  our  friends  in  this 
district.  Immediately  after  they  learned  the  agreeable 
news,  they  flocked  to  see  me,  and  to  have  the  happiness 
and  advantage  of  procuring  the  Testament  of  our  Redeemer ; 
and  in  less  than  Jive  days  the  box  was  emptied.  I  gave 
copies  of  the  Gospel  of  St.  Matthew  to  those  who  had  not 
the  satisfaction  and  consolation  to  procure  a  complete  copy 
of  the  Testament.  The  whole  was  so  soon  distributed  that 
many  could  have  nothing ;  and  there  are  also  many  who 
do  not  yet  know  of  the  arrival  of  the  second  box.     I  intend 


THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  1 1 

to  lend  the  copy  of  the  Bible,  and  of  the  books  which  I 
have  reserved  for  myself,  among  our  friends  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, in  order  that  the  books  we  have  may  be  as  useful 
as  possible. 

"  As  I  hope  you  will  do  me  the  honor  and  the  Christian 
kindness  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  this,  I  request  you 
to  inform  me  how  I  can  remit  you  sixty  francs,  which  I 
have  received  for  fifteen  of  the  New  Testaments.  As  our 
brethren  and  sisters  in  Jesus  Christ,  who,  by  an  effect  of 
his  grace  altogether  free  and  unmerited,  look  for  his  second 
coming  to  salvation,  are  delighted  and  edified  by  the  truly 
Christian  salutation  which  you  have  sent  through  me ;  they 
desire  me  to  express  their  gratitude,  and  to  request  you  to 
accept  theirs  in  the  same  spirit.  I  unite  with  them  in  be- 
seeching you  and  your  respectable  friend  ,  and  all 

your  friends,  not  to  forget  us  in  your  prayers  to  the  Father 
of  lights,  that  he  may  give  us  grace  to  persevere  in  the  same 
sentiments,  and  grant  us  all  the  mercy  to  join  the  general 
assembly,  the  heavenly  Jerusalem.  Amen.  Expecting 
that  happy  day,  I  entreat  you  to  believe  me  your  very 
humble  servant  and  friend  in  Jesus  Christ, 

"The  Widow ." 

It  may  well  be  supposed  that  the  reception  of  this  in- 
teresting letter  produced  an  effect  on  the  mind  of  M. , 

as  well  as  on  the  minds  of  many  of  his  Christian  friends  at 

Paris,  of  the  happiest  kind.     M. informed  the  widow 

of  the  great  satisfaction  with  which  he  had  learned  the 
eagerness  of  the  villagers  to  obtain  the  word  of  God,  and 
that  he  had  directed  his  friend,  the  publisher  of  the  New 
Testament  of  De  Sacy,  to  send  her  fifty  copies  more ;  at  the 
same  time  promising  her  a  fresh  supply,  if  they  should  be 
needed.  He  also  expressed  to  her  the  hope,  that,  as  he 
expected  his  business  would,  within  a  few  months,  call  him 

again  to  S ,  he  should  be  able,  Providence  permitting, 

to  avail  himself  of  that  opportunity,  and  enjoy  the  happiness 


L>2  THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

of  another  visit  at  her  residence.  To  this  communication 
she  some  time  afterwards  returned  the  following  reply : 

"Dear  Sir,  and  Brother  in  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ — . 
May  the  grace  and  unmerited  mercy  of  our  Divine  Saviour 
be  our  single  and  only  hope  in  our  pilgrimage  here  below.  I 
beseech  you  and  your  dear  friends  to  pray  for  us,  that  the 
celestial  Comforter,  promised  in  the  Scriptures,  would 
vouchsafe  to  visit  our  hearts  and  warm  them  with  his  love  ; 
for  without  the  aid  of  this  Divine  Light,  even  though  we 
should  commit  to  memory  the  Old  and  New  Testament,  it 
would  avail  us  nothing  ;  but  rather  tend  to  our  greater  con- 
demnation in  the  sight  of  our  Sovereign  Judge.      * 

"  I  am  noAV  able  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  the  box 
which  you  had  the  goodness  and  Christian  charity  to  send 
me,  containing  fifty  copies  of  the  Testament  of  our  blessed 
Saviour,  which  did  not  arrive  until  the  25th  of  last  month, 
on  account  of  its  having  been  detained  in  the  public  store 

at  S for  several  days,  without  my  knowledge.     As  soon 

as  I  learned  it  was  there,  I  sent  one  of  my  daughters  to 
inquire  for  it,  as  I  was  then  so  ill  as  to  keep  my  bed,  and 
to  induce  a  belief  that  I  was  about  to  quit  this  land  of  exile. 
I  have  felt  myself  so  much  better  for  a  few  days  past,  that 
I  begin  to  think  that  my  pilgrimage  will  be  prolonged  for 
some  time,  and  that  I  may  yet  have  the  pleasure  and  con- 
solation of  again  seeing  you,  and  conversing  with  you  upon 
the  things  which  regard  our  eternal  peace.  It  is  with  such 
feelings  that  I  would  beg  an  interest  in  your  prayers,  that 
the  precious  blood  which  the  Divine  Saviour  has  been  will- 
ing to  shed  for  us  and  other  sinners,  may  be  found  effica- 
cious to  me  in  that  moment  when  I  shall  depart  from  this 
vale  of  tears ;  for  my  age  admonishes  that  this  time  is  not 
far  distant.  Believe  me,  my  dear  brother  in  Christ,  that  I 
shall  never  forget  you  in  my  prayers,  however  feeble  they 
may  be ;  for  I  can  never  forget  the  day  when,  urged  by 
Christian  friendship,  you  entered  my  house,  and  imparted 


THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  13 

that  truly  spiritual  nourishment  which  serves  for  time  and 
eternity,  and  we  discoursed  together  upon  the  second  com- 
ing of  our  Divine  Redeemer,  and  the  restoration  of  the  cov- 
enant people. 

"  I  look  forward  to  the  happy  moment  when  I  shall  have 
the  honor  and  pleasure  of  seeing  you  again ;  and  in  the 
mean  time  beg  you  to  believe  me  your  very  humble  and 
affectionate  friend  and  servant  in  Jesus  Christ, 

"  The  Widow -." 

In  a  letter  received  soon  after  the  above,  M. was 

informed  that  the  Bibles  and  Testaments  had  all  been  dis- 
posed of  within  two  days  from  the  time  of  their  arrival,  and 
that  many,  who  earnestly  desired  a  copy,  were  yet  unsup- 
plied ;  the  distribution  having  only  created  an  increased 

demand.     M. resolved  not  to  neglect  their  wants,  as 

long  as  it  was  in  his  power  to  supply  them ;  and  the  day 

being  not  far  distant,  when  he  proposed  to  repair  to  S , 

and  to  make  a  second  visit  to  the  village  in  the  mountains, 
he  prepared  a  case  of  a  hundred  New  Testaments  and  a 
hundred  octavo  Bibles,  which  he  forwarded  to  Lyons  by 
the  roulage  accelerd,  or  baggage  wagon,  to  meet  his  arrival 
there ;  and  soon  after  took  his  departure  from  Paris. 

There  were  some  interesting  incidents  in  the  jfrogress 
of  this  tour,  which  so  delightfully  point  to  trie  hand  of  God, 
that  the  reader  may  be  gratified  in  becoming  acquainted 

with  them.     On  his  arrival  at  Lyons,  M. ,  finding  no 

other  way  of  transportation  except  the  common  diligence,  a 
public  stage-coach,  was  obliged  to  resort  to  this  conveyance. 
The  case  of  Bibles  and  Testaments  which  he  had  forwarded 
was  so  large,  that  the  only  method  by  which  it  could  be 
carried  was  to  set  it  up  on  end  in  the  basket  attached  to 
the  back  of  the  diligence ;  and  such  was  the  weight  and 
size  of  the  box,  that  it  was  with  no  small  difficulty,  and  by 
the  assistance  of  several  men,  that  it  was  safely  adjusted. 
At  first  the  passengers  objected  to  taking  their  seats  with 

Eleg.  Nar.  82 


14  THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

such  a  weight  behind,  lest  they  should  meet  with  some 
accident,  or  be  impeded  in  their  progress.  After  much 
persuasion,  however,  and  after  presenting  a  number  of  relig- 
ious Tracts  to  each  passenger,  and  requesting  the  conductor 
to  drive  slow,  they  were  prevailed  on  to  proceed  on  their 
journey.  The  course  they  were  pursuing  led  through  a 
part  of  the  country  solely  inhabited  by  Roman  Catholics, 

where,  the  year  before,  M. had  distributed  a  number 

of  Bibles  and  Tracts,  the  reading  of  which,  he  had  subse- 
quently ascertained,  had  been  forbidden  by  the  priests,  who 
had  not  only  demanded  them,  but  consigned  most  or  all  of 

them  to  the  flames.     M. thought  necessary,  in  this 

journey,  to  suspend  his  distributions  in  this  immediate  vicin- 
ity. But  the  providence  of  God  had  other  views,  and  so 
ordered  it,  that,  without  the  instrumentality  of  men,  the 
sacred  records  should  be  scattered  among  that  people.  On 
reaching  the  place  of  his  destination  at  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tains, and  alighting  from  the  diligence,  M. discovered 

that  the  case  had  opened  at  the  top,  and  that  not  a  few 
Bibles  and  Testaments  had  been  scattered  along  the  way. 
Travellers  were  soon  seen  coming  up,  some  in  wagons,  and 
some  on  horseback,  some  with  a  Bible  and  some  with  a 
New  Testament  under  their  arm.  They  informed  him,  that, 
for  eiglt  or  ten  miles  back,  the  inhabitants  had  been  sup- 
plied by  the  diligence,  as  the  books  had  fallen  out  whenever 
they  descended  a  hill,  or  travelled  over  rocky  and  uneven 
ground. 

While  taking  the  case  from  the  diligence,  several  more 
persons  came  up,  each  bringing  his  Bible  or  Testament, 

which  they  most  readily  offered  to  return  to  M. ,  but 

which  he  as  cheerfully  requested  them  to  accept,  observing 
to  them,  that  they  had  been  destined  for  their  perusal  by 
that  Providence  whose  unseen  hand  directs  all  human 
events.  Though  ignorant  of  the  contents  of  the  volume 
which  God  had  thus  given  them,  they  expressed  many 
thanks  to  M. for  his  generosity,  and  were  about  to 


THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  15 

proceed  on  their  way,  apparently  rejoicing,  when  M. 

dismissed  them  by  saying,  "  My  friends,  I  feel  peculiarly 
happy  in  thus  being  the  instrument  of  putting  into  your 
hands  that  volume  which  contains  the  records  of  eternal 
life,  and  which  points  you  to  'the  Lamb  of  God,  which 
taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world.'  If  you  faithfully  read 
it,  and  imbibe  its  glorious  and  precious  truths,  and  obey  its 
precepts,  it  will  render  you  happy  in  this  life,  and  happy 
during  the  endless  ages  of  eternity." 

Having  opened  the  case,  M. found  that  forty-nine 

Bibles  and  Testaments  had  been  thus  distributed.  Some 
of  his  fellow-passengers  were  ready  to  believe  that  the  box 

had  been  intentionally  left  open,  but  M. assured  them, 

that  it  had  been  carefully  secured  in  the  usual  manner,  and 
that  not  until  his  arrival  at  the  spot  where  they  alighted, 
had  he  known  that  any  had  fallen  out. 

Having  made  arrangements  to  have  the  case  forwarded 
to  the  widow,  and  having  addressed  to  her  a  note  informing 

her  of  his  intention  to  proceed  to  the  large  village  of  S , 

where  he  proposed  tarrying  a  few  days,  during  which  time 

he  hoped  once  more  to  visit  her  and  her  friends,  M. 

resumed  his  seat  in  the  diligence,  and  arrived  at  S the 

same  night.  On  the  next  day  but  one  after  his  arrival,  he 
was  agreeably  surprised,  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning, 
to  find  the  hotel  where  he  lodged  surrounded  by  fifty  or 
sixty  persons,  inquiring  for  the  gentleman  who  had,  a  day 
or  two  before,  presented  to  a  number  of  their  citizens  the 
book,  which,  as  they  said,  "  contained  a  true  history  of  the 
birth,  life,  sufferings,  death,  resurrection,  and  ascension  of  our 
Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ.' '  Others  of  them  called 
it  by  its  proper  name,  the  New  Testament  of  our  Lord 
and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ.     All  of  them  were  anxious  to 

purchase  a  copy  of  it.     As  soon  as  M. ascertained  the 

object  of  their  visit,  he  appeared  on  the  balcony,  and  ex- 
pressed his  regret  that  he  had  no  more  of  those  interesting 
volumes  with  him ;  informing  them  that,  if  it  pleased  God 


1(5  THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

he  should  return  to  Paris,  he  would  forward  a  hundred  to 
his  correspondent  in  that  place,  that  each  of  them  might  be 
furnished  with  a  copy.  This  was  accordingly  done  imme- 
diately after  his  return  to  Paris.     And  during  his  residence 

there,  M. had  the  satisfaction  to  see,  that  more  or  less 

individuals  from  S ,  who  came  to  solicit  orders  for  their 

manufacturing  establishments,  also  brought  orders  for  an 
additional  supply  of  the  sacred  volume.  And  the  number 
of  Bibles  and  Testaments  which  were  introduced  into  a  dense 
Catholic  population,  in  consequence  of  the  apparently  trivial 
circumstance  of  the  opening  of  the  case  in  the  diligence,  will 
probably  never  be  ascertained  until  the  great  day  of  account ; 
nor  will  it  be  known  to  what  extent  they  have  been  instru- 
mental in  reclaiming  and  saving  the  souls  of  deluded  men. 

On  the  day  following,  M. received  a  deputation 

from  the  village  in  the  mountains,  anxiously  desiring  to  hear 
on  what  day  and  hour  they  might  hope  to  enjoy  his  long- 
expected  visit.  He  proposed  to  be  at  the  widow's  house 
the  following  morning,  at  11  o'clock.  Furnished  with  a 
carriage  and  horses  by  one  of  his  friends,  he  set  out  accord- 
ingly ;  and,  on  reaching  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  was  met 
by  a  deputation  of  twelve  or  fifteen  of  these  faithful  follow- 
ers of  the  Lamb,  who  greeted  his  approach  with  demonstra- 
tions of  joy.  He  immediately  descended  from  the  carriage, 
and  was  conducted  to  the  house  of  the  widow  with  every 
expression  of  the  most  sincere  Christian  affection,  some 
taking  him  by  the  sleeve,  and  others  by  the  skirts  of  his 
coat,  some  preceding  and  others  following  him.  But  what 
was  his  surprise,  on  arriving  at  the  house,  to  find  an  assem- 
bly of  from  sixty  to  eighty,  who,  with  one  voice,  desired 

him  to  preach  to  them  !    M. observed  to  them,  that  he 

was  an  unworthy  layman,  and  totally  unqualified  for  such  a 
responsible  duty,  and  the  more  so  at  that  time,  as  his  mind 
had  been  occupied  in  his  secular  business ;  and  he  felt  the 
need  of  himself  receiving  instruction,  instead  of  attempting 
to  impart  it  to  others.     But  a  chair  had  been  placed  for  him 


THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  I1) 

in  a  suitable  part  of  the  room,  and  a  small  table,  covered 
with  a  green  cloth,  placed  before  it,  on  which  was  laid  the 

copy  of  the  Bible  which  M. had,  some  months  before, 

presented  to  the  widow.     M. saw  he  could  not  avoid 

saying  something  to  this  importunate  company,  and  looking 
to  God  for  assistance  and  a  blessing,  took  the  chair  which 
had  been  set  for  him,  and  resolved  to  attempt  to  draw  from 
the  Bible,  for  their  benefit,  such  instruction  and  consolation 
as  he  might  be  enabled  to  impart. 

To  the  eye  of  M.  every  thing  gave  beauty  and 

solemnity  to  this  unexpected  scene.  The  room  into  which 
he  was  conducted  was  filled  with  the  villagers,  all  con- 
veniently accommodated  on  benches.  A  large  door  opened 
in  the  rear  of  the  house,  and  discovered  the  declivity  of  the 
mountain  on  which  it  stood,  skirted  also  with  listening 
auditors.  While,  at  a  distance,  the  flocks  and  herds  were 
peacefully  feeding,  the  trees,  covered  with"  beautiful  foliage, 
were  waving  in  the  breeze,  and  all  nature  seemed  to  be  in 
harmony  with  those  sacred  emotions  which  so  obviously 
pervaded  this  rural  assembly. 

After  addressing  the  throne  of  grace,  M. read  a  part 

of  the  fourth  chapter  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles.  He 
turned  their  attention  more  especially  to  that  interesting 
passage  in  the  twelfth  verse :  "  There  is  none  other  name 
under  heaven  given  among  men,  whereby  we  must  be  saved." 
He  endeavored  to  point  out  to  them  the  exceeding  sinful- 
ness of  sin,  the  awful  consequences  of  violating  the  law  of 
God,  the  inefficacy  of  all  those  expedients  which  the  ig- 
norance, the  pride,  or  the  self-righteousness  of  men  had 
substituted  for  the  "only  name"  Christ  Jesus.  He  spoke 
of  the  necessity  .of  this  great  sacrifice  on  the  cross,  of  the 
love  of  God  in  sending  his  Son  into  the  world,  of  the  fulness 
and  all-sufficiency  of  the  mighty  redemption,  and  of  the 
duty  of  sinners  to  accept  it  and  live.  "  It  is  through  Christ 
alone,"  said  he,  "that  you  can  have  hope  of  pardon  and 
salvation      Ycu  must  take  up  the  cross  and  follow  Christ. 

32* 


IQ  THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

You  must  renounce  your  sins  and  flee  to  Christ.  You  must 
renounce  your  own  righteousness,  and  trust  alone  in  Christ. 
You  must  renounce  all  other  lords,  and  submit  to  Christ. 
If  you  had  offended  an  earthly  monarch,  to  whom  you  could 
have  access  only  through  his  son,  would  you  address  your- 
selves to  his  servants,  rather  than  his  son  ?  And  will  you 
then,  in  the  great  concerns  of  your  souls,  go  to  any  other 
than  the  Son?  Will  you  have  recourse  to  the  Virgin 
Mary,  or  some  favored  servant,  rather  than  address  your- 
selves to  Him  who  is  '  the  way,  and  the  truth,  and  the  life  ?' 
and  when  God  himself  assures  us,  that  '  there  is  none  other 
name  under  heaven  given  among  men,  whereby  we  must  be 
saved?" 

Having  thus  proceeded  for  the  space  of  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes,  and  at  a  moment  when  the  greater  part  of  his 
audience  were  in  tears,  the  widow  suddenly  came  running 
to  M. ,  saying,  with  great  agitation,  "  Monsieur  !  Mon- 
sieur !" 

"  What,  madam,  what  ?"  said  M. . 

"I  perceive,"  said  she,  "at  a  distance,  the  Deputy 
Mayor  of  a  neighboring  village,  in  company  with  several 
women,  approaching  with  a  speedy  step  towards  my  house. 
These  people  are  among  our  greatest  persecutors— shall  I 
not  call  in  our  little  band  of  brothers  and  sisters,  and  fasten 
the  doors?"  "No,  madam,"  said  M. ,  "on  the  con- 
trary, if  it  be  possible,  open  the  doors  still  wider;  trust 
in  God  our  Saviour,  and  leave  to  me  the  direction  of  this 
matter." 

By  this  time,  considerable  alarm  seemed  to  pervade  the 
whole  assembly,  and  some  confusion  ensued,  in  consequence 

of  several  leaving  their  seats.     M. begged  them  to  be 

composed,  and  to  resume  their  seats,  saying,  that  the  object 
for  which  they  were  assembled  was  one  which  God  would 
accept  of  and  approve,  which  angels  would  delight  in,  and 
at  which  Satan  trembled ;  and  that  they  had  nothing  to  fear 
from  the  arm  of  flesh.     By  this  time  the  Mayor  made  his 


THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  19 

appearance  at  the  threshold  of  the  door,  together  with  his 
attendants. 

"  Come  in,  sir,"  saidM. ,  "and  be  seated,"  pointing 

to  a  chair  placed  near  the  table. 

"  JSTo,  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  prefer  to  remain  here." 

"But  I  prefer,"  said  M. ,  "that  you  come  in,  and 

also  your  companions,  and  be  seated." 

Perceiving  M. to  be  firm  in  his  determination,- they 

complied,  and  were  all  seated  among  his  nearest  auditors. 

M. then,  without  any  further  remarks,  having  the 

Bible  open  before  him,  directed  their  attention  to  those 
words  in  Christ's  Sermon  on  the  Mount :  "  Blessed  are  they 
which  are  persecuted  for  righteousness*  sake  ;  for  theirs  is 
the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Blessed  are  ye  when  men  shall 
revile  you,  and  persecute  you,  and  shall  say  all  manner  of 
evil  against  you  falsely,  for  my  sake.  JRejoice,  and  ~he  ex- 
ceeding glad ;  for  great  is  your  reward  in  heaven  ;  for  so 
persecuted  they  the  prophets  which  were  before  you."  Matt. 
5:  10,  12. 

M. proceeded  to  set  before  them  the  sufferings  of 

the  apostles  and  primitive  Christians  for  the  truth  as  it  is 
in  Jesus,  and  the  constancy  and  firmness  with  which,  in  all 
circumstances,  they  endured  these  sufferings,  on  account  of 
the  love  which  they  bore  to  their  Saviour ;  that  they  had 
good  reasons  for  so  doing,  for  they  were  assured  by  Christ, 
in  the  words  just  read,  that  "  great  should  be  their  reward 

in  heaven."     M. then  proceeded  to  show  the  immense 

responsibility  which  those  assumed,  and  the  enormity  of 
their  guilt,  who,  ignorantly  or  designedly,  persecuted  the 
followers  of  Christ.  That  they  were  but  "  heaping  up  to 
themselves  wrath  against  the  day  of  wrath."  That  the  day 
was  not  far  distant,  when  the  awful  realities  of  eternity 
would  burst  upon  their  view ;  and  that  every  man  would 
then  be  judged  "  according  to  the  deeds  done  in  the  body." 

When  M. had  proceeded  in  this  manner  for  ten  or 

twelve  minutes,  bringing  the  truth  to  bear  especially  upon 


20  THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

the  minds  of  his  new  audience,  he  perceived  the  Mayor 
wiping  his  eyes  with  the  cuff  of  his  sleeve,  who,  rising  at 
that  moment  from  his  seat,  exclaimed, 

"  Sir,  I  acknowledge  that  I  have  heretofore  felt  an  en- 
mity towards  many  of  the  people  whom  I  here  see  before 
me ;  and  have,  as  far  as  my  influence  extended  in  my  official 
capacity,  endeavored  to  break  up  what  I  have  considered 
their  illegal  assemblies,  and  to  coerce  them  back  within  the 
pale  of  the  mother  church,  which  one  after  another  of  them 
have  been  abandoning  for  years  past.  But,  if  all  that  you 
have  expressed  be  true,  and  is  in  conformity  with  the  sacred 
volume  of  God's  word,  and  if  the  book  which  you  hold  in 
your  hand  is  a  correct  translation  of  the  original  copy,  I 
beg  you  to  sell  it  me,  that  I  may  peruse  it  myself,  and  give 
the  reading  of  it  to  others  better  able  to  judge  of  its  con- 
tents ;  and  if  I  there  find  the  promises  and  threatenings  as 
stated  by  you  to  be  correct,  you  may  rely  upon  it,  that,  so 
far  from  persecuting  these,  in  other  respects,  harmless  peo- 
ple, I  will  hereafter  be  their  friend/ ' 

On  hearing  this,  M. immediately  requested  the 

widow  to  bring  several  Bibles  from  the  case  which  he 
brought  with  him  in  the  diligence,  and  which  had  reached 
the  house  according  to  his  direction ;  one  of  which  he  pre- 
sented to  the  Mayor,  and  one  to  each  of  his  Catholic  asso- 
ciates.   On  the  Mayor's  offering  to  pay  for  the  one  put  into 

his  hand,  M. observed,  that  he  had  much  pleasure  in 

presenting  it  to  him,  as  well  as  to  his  companions,  in  the 
hope  that  they  would  hereafter  not  only  become  the  friends 
of  this  interesting  people,  but,  what  was  of  more  impor- 
tance, the  friends  of  Jesus  Christ,  who  is  the  "  only  Mediator 
between  God  and  man."  With  this  they  took  their  depart- 
ure :  M. observing  to  thejn,  that  his  heart's  desire  and 

prayer  to  God  was,  that,  by  a  careful,  humble,  and  prayer- 
ful perusal  of  that  sacred  volume,  their  understandings 
might  become  enlightened,  and  their  hearts  imbued  with 
the  riches  of  divine  grace ;  that  they  might  thereby  be  led 


THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  21 

hereafter  to  advocate  the  very  cause  which  they  had  hitherto 
been  attempting  to  destroy ;  and  that,  when  they  had  done 
serving  God  their  Saviour  here  below,  they  might  find 
themselves  among  that  happy  number  "whose  names  are 
written  in  the  Lamb's  book  of  life."  They  left  the  house, 
all  of  them  in  tears,  and,  as  it  appeared,  deeply  impressed 
with  the  truths  which  had  been  exhibited. 

After  he  had  concluded  these  remarks,  M. request- 
ed that  some  of  the  remaining  Bibles  and  Testaments  might 
be  brought  and  laid  before  him  on  the  table.  These  he 
distributed  gratuitously  to  all  present,  who  had  not  before 
been  supplied,  and  who  were  unable  to  purchase  them. 
While  he  was  doing  this,  many  who  had  previously  receiv- 
ed the  sacred  volume,  came  forward  and  manifested  their 
gratitude  by  laying  upon  the  table  their  various  donations 
of  from  two  to  ten  francs*  each,  till,  in  a  few  moments,  the 

table  was  well  nigh  covered.     M. told  them,  he  was 

unwilling  to  receive  money  in  that  manner,  and  wished  them 
to  put  their  gifts  into  the  hands  of  the  widow,  accompanied 
by  the  names  of  the  donors,  that  they  might  be  regularly 
accounted  to  the  Bible  Society.  This  they  consented  to 
with  some  reluctance,  when  the  widow  brought  from  her 
drawer  a  purse  containing  a  hundred  and  seventy  francs, 

saying  to  M. ,  that  he  could  not  refuse  that  money,  as 

it  was  the  proceeds  of  Bibles  and  Testaments  which  she 
had  sold  in  compliance  with  his  directions.  M. re- 
plied to  her,  that  he  had  indeed  requested  her  to  sell  these 
volumes  to  such  as  were  able  to  purchase,  that  he  might 
ascertain  whether  there  were  persons  in  that  neighborhood 
who  sufficiently  appreciated  the  word  of  God  to  be  willing 
to  pay  for  it ;  but,  that  object  having  been  accomplished, 
it  was  now  his  privilege,  on  his  own  personal  responsibility, 
to  place  the  hundred  and  seventy  francs  in  the  hands  of 
the  widow,  to  be  distributed,  in  equal  portions,  to  the  three 

#  Five  francs  are  nearly  equal  to  one  dollar. 
vol.  vi.  7 


12  THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

unfortunate  families  whom  they  had  mentioned  as  having 
recently  lost  their  husbands  and  fathers  by  the  caving  in 
of  a  coal-pit. 

On  hearing  this,  they  together,  spontaneously  as  it  were, 

surrounded  M. ,  and,  with  tears  streaming  from  their 

eyes,  loaded  him  with  their  expressions  of  gratitude  and 
their  blessings,  rendering  it  the  most  touching  scene  which 
M. ever  witnessed. 

Amidst  all  these  tokens  of  their  Christian  affection, 

M. was  compelled  to  prepare  for  his  departure,  and 

imploring  the  richest  of  heaven's  mercies  upon  their  heads, 
bade  them  an  affectionate  farewell. 

The  whole  company  followed  him  to  the  carriage,  and 
just  as  he  had  reached  it,  he  once  more  addressed  them, 
saying,  "My  dear  friends,  if  any  of  you  have  not  yet 
submitted  yourselves  to  God,  and  are  out  of  the  ark  of 
safety,  I  beseech  you,  'give  not  sleep  to  your  eyes,  nor 
slumber  to  your  eyelids/  until  you  flee  to  the  Saviour. 
And  those  of  you  who  have  tasted  that  the  Lord  is  gra- 
cious, live  near  to  God,  bear  cheerfully  the  cross  of  your 
Redeemer,  follow  on  to  know  the  Lord  and  do  his  will,  and 
by  his  grace  reigning  in  your  hearts,  you  shall  come  off 
conquerors,  and  more  than  conquerors !"  When  he  had 
said  this,  and  had  again  commended  them  to  the  God  of 
all  mercy  through  a  crucified  Redeemer,  he  drove  off,  amid 
their  prayers  and  blessings,  to  see  them  no  more  till  that 
day  when  they  shall  meet  in  the  kingdom  of  their  Father, 
where  sighs  and  farewells  are  sounds  unknown,  and  where 
God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  every  eye. 

After  M. 's  return  to  Paris,  he  had  the  pleasure  to 

learn  from  the  widow,  that  all  the  Bibles  he  had  left  with 
her  were  disposed  of,  and  that  many,  in  various  directions 
from  the  village,  were  earnest  to  obtain  them,  but  could 
not  be  supplied.  In  the  mean  time,  a  deep  interest  in  the 
spiritual  welfare  of  these  villagers  had  diffused  itself  beyond 
the  limits  of  Paris,  or  even  of  France.    The  first  eight  pages 


THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN 9.  23 

of  this  Tract,  having  found  its  way  to  England,  had  been 
published  by  the  Religious  Tract  Society  of  London,  and 
had  obtained  a  very  wide  circulation.     A  parish  in  one  of 

the  interior  towns  of  England  had  forwarded  to  M. 

twenty  pounds  sterling,  for  the  purchase  of  Bibles  to  be 
presented  to  the  widow  for  gratuitous  distribution ;  and  a 
family  of  Friends  from  Wales,  having  read  the  narrative, 
visited  M. at  Paris,  and  proceeded  thence  to  the  vil- 
lage in  the  mountains,  where  they  tarried  no  less  than  three 

weeks,  assuring  M. ,  on  their  return  to  Paris,  that  it 

had  been  the  most  interesting  three  weeks  of  their  lives. 

As  the  proceeds  of  the  twenty  pounds,  M. for- 
warded to  the  widow  fifty  Bibles  and  fifty  Testaments, 
with  a  selection  of  several  other  choice  books  and  Tracts. 
These  Bibles,  Testaments,  and  Tracts,  were  all  actually 
disposed  of  in  eight  days,  of  which  the  widow  gave  early 

information,  accompanied  by  letters  to  M. ,  and  to  the 

benevolent  donors  in  England,  expressing,  in  the  most  cor- 
dial manner,  her  gratitude,  and  that  of  those  who  had  thus 
been  supplied  with  the  word  of  life.  She  gave  a  particular 
statement  of  the  eagerness  with  which  they  had  been  read, 
of  their  distribution  in  many  Catholic  families,  and  the 
conversion  of  some  to  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus.  She  in- 
formed that  many  individuals  and  families  were  still  un- 
supplied ;  and  for  herself  and  those  around  her,  expressed 
her  thanksgivings  to  God  for  the  wonders  of  his  love  in 
inspiring  the  hearts  of  his  children  to  unite  their  efforts  in 
Bible  and  other  benevolent  institutions,  and  to  contribute 
of  their  substance  to  extend  to  the  destitute  a  knowledge 
of  the  Gospel. 

The  last  letter  which  M. received  from  the  widow, 

before  he  left  the  country,  contained  two  hundred  francs, 
which  she  and  her  children  had  contributed  as  a  donation, 
in  acknowledgment  of  the  Bibles  and  Testaments  which  he 
had  from  time  to  time  forwarded. 

Mr.  - —  replied  to  her,  that  it  gave  him  more  joy  than 


24  THE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS 

to  have  received  twenty  thousand  francs  from  another 
source,  as  it  testified  their  attachment  to  the  word  of  God. 
He  returned  her  the  full  amount  of  their  donation  in  Bibles, 
with  two  hundred  and  fifty  Testaments  from  the  Society, 
together  with  fifty  from  himself,  as  his  last  present  before 
his  departure,  and  also  six  hundred  Tracts  and  several 
other  religious  books.  Pointing  out  to  her  an  esteemed 
friend  in  Paris,  to  whom,  if  further  supplies  should  be  need- 
ed, she  might  apply  with  assurance  that  her  requests  would 
be  faithfully  regarded,  and  exhorting  her  to  remain  steadfast 
in  the  faith,  and  to  fix  her  eye  always  upon  the  Saviour, 

M. commended  her  to  God,  in  the  fervent  hope,  that, 

through  the  unsearchable  riches  of  his  grace,  he  should 
hereafter  meet  her  and  her  persecuted  associates,  in  that 
world  "where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the 
weary  are  at  rest." 


Note. — The  original  letters  of  the  widow,  in  French,  ar 
deposited  in  the  archives  of  the  American  Tract  Society. 


NARRATIVE   XVIII. 
THE  HONEST  WATERMAN; 

OR, 

HISTORY  OF  THOMAS  MANN, 

DISTINGUISHED  FOR  TTTS  RELIGIOUS  CHARITIES. 


A  gentleman  in  London  who  was  Treasurer  of  a  re- 
ligious society,  was  called  upon  one  day  by  a  waterman  of 
respectable  appearance,  whose  business  was  to  pay  into  the 
treasury  of  the  institution  a  legacy  of  fifty  pounds.  The 
legacy  had  been  left  by  his  uncle,  the  late  Thomas  Mann,  of 
St.  Catharines  by  the  Tower,  London.  The  circumstances 
and  the  interview  deeply  affected  the  mind  of  the  gentle- 
man, and  gave  rise  to  the  following  conversation. 


2  THE  HONEST  WATERMAN. 

Learning  that  the  uncle  was  also  a  waterman,  the  gentle- 
man asked,  "  Was  he  a  lighterman  ? — did  he  keep  barges  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  he  was  only  a  scullerman ;  he  had  nothing 
but  a  small  boat  for  taking  passengers,  laboring  with  his 
own  hands." 

"But  how  could  a  scullerman  save  so  much  money  as 
to  leave  fifty  pounds  in  charity  ?" 

"  He  was  very  industrious,  sir,  and  very  frugal  •  he  has 
left  a  great  many  legacies  to  religious  and  benevolent  soci- 
eties, besides  money  to  his  relations." 

"  Was  he,  then,  a  miser  ?" 

"0  no,  sir;  the  very  opposite  of  that;  he  was  a  very 
generous  man." 

"  How  then  could  he  acquire  so  much  property  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  he  was  a  very  early  riser,  for  one  thing,  and 
would  often  do  nearly  a  day's  work  before  other  people 
were  up  in  the  morning ;  and  then  he  was  so  honest,  in 
never  asking  more  than  his  fare,  and  so  civil,  and  his  boat 
and  his  person  always  so  clean,  and  neat,  and  comfortable, 
that  I  suppose  he  had  generally  more  fares  than  other  wa- 
termen. His  character  was  so  well  known  on  the  river,  that 
he  was  commonly  called  'The  Honest  Waterman.'  " 

"  What  legacies  has  he  left  besides  this  ?"  said  the  gen- 
tleman. 

"  I  can  hardly  remember  them  all.  There  is  a  hundred 
pounds  to  the  Bible  Society,  another  hundred  to  the  Church 
Missionary  Society ;  another  hundred,  I  believe,  to  the 
Bethel  Union ;  another  to  the  Spitalfields  Benevolent  So- 
ciety. I  do  not  remember  them  all,  but  there  are  nine  ot 
a  hundred  pounds  to  nine  different  societies.  There  is  a 
legacy  to  the  Charity-school  in  which  he  was  brought  up ; 
there  is  also  a  hundred  pounds  to  his  brother-in-law,  who 
married  his  sister ;  there  are  other  legacies  to  his  relations 
and  friends ;  and  he  has  left  me  the  remainder." 

"  How  much  did  he  die  worth  ?" 

"  Between  two  and  three  thousand  pounds." 

"  Was  vour  uncle  a  married  man  ?"    / 


THE  HONEST  WATERMAN.  3 

u  No,  sir  ;  but  he  supported  his  mother  and  sisters,  after 
his  father's  death,  till  they  died." 

"  You  said  he  was  a  generous  man :  how  could  he  be 
generous,  besides  supporting  his  mother  and  sisters,  and  yet 
save  so  much  money  ?" 

"  Sir,  his  industry  and  frugality  were  so  remarkable, 
that  he  always  had  wherewith  to  help  a  poor  man.  If  any 
waterman  happened  to  lose  his  boat,  my  uncle  was  always 
the  first  to  relieve  him  ;  and  he  used,  on  Sundays,  to  take  a 
quantity  of  silver  to  give  to  poor  persons  whom  he  might 
see  at  church,  or  in  the  street,  who  appeared  in  distress, 
and  proper  objects  of  relief.  I  know  he  put  a  sovereign 
in  the  plate  at  the  last  charity- sermon  which  he  attended." 

"  How  old  was  he  ?" 

"  He  was  seventy-five  when  he  died." 

"  What  kind  of  a  man  was  he  in  his  person  ?" 

"  He  was  particularly  neat.  On  a  Sunday  he  appeared 
somewhat  like  a  Quaker,  for  he  latterly  wore  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  and  a  light  wig,  with  a  sort  of  double  curl." 

"  Was  he  at  all  singular  in  his  manners  ?" 

"  Not  at  all ;  he  had  nothing  eccentric  about  him :  he 
was  a  fine,  open-hearted  man  as  ever  you  saw.  He  was  a 
very  sensible  man,  too,  and  a  good  scholar,  considering  he 
was  brought  up  in  a  charity-school." 

"  Was  he  a  pious  man  ?" 

"  He  was  indeed,  sir ;  and  he  died,  as  he  lived,  like  a 
Christian.  I  have  written  down  a  great  many  of  his  ex- 
cellent sayings  while  he  was  ill ;  he  had  a  great  deal  of  the 
Scriptures  by  heart.  0  sir,  he  was  very  happy !  he  said 
such  things  as  would  have  delighted  you.  I  am  sure  it 
would  have  done  you  good  to  have  seen  him,  and  heard  him 
talk." 

"  Well,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  you  should  write  down 
all  you  can  remember  and  collect  respecting  so  excellent  a 
man." 

Such  was  literally  the  information  of  this  deserving 
nephew,  concerning  his  worthy  uncle.     The  gentleman  to 


4  THE  HONEST  WATERMAN 

whom  it  was  thus,  apparently  by  accident,  communicated, 
struck  by  a  recital  at  once  so  simple  and  so  extraordinary, 
immediately  committed  what  he  had  heard  to  writing.  He 
subsequently  made  diligent  inquiry  among  those  who  had 
known  "The  Honest  Waterman"  during  his  life.  Their 
testimony  was  uniform.  Such  a  character,  so  extensively 
useful,  yet  so  little  known,  had  never  before  met  his  obser- 
vation. 

He  was  born  in  the  precinct  of  St.  Catharine,  by  the 
Tower  of  London,  June  4,  1747.  In  the  Tower- Ward 
Charity-school  he  learned  to  write  a  good  hand,  and  made 
some  progress  in  arithmetic.  He  was  accustomed  fre- 
quently to  express  his  sense  of  these  advantages,  and  his 
gratitude  for  a  benefit  then  much  less  common  than  at  pres- 
ent, and  without  which  he  must  have  remained  uninstruct- 
ed.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  he  was  apprenticed  to  a  water- 
man on  the  Thames,  with  whom  he  served  the  usual  term  of 
seven  years.  During  that  early  period,  his  attachment  was 
marked  to  his  mother  and  sisters,  his  principal  recreation 
being  the  enjoyment  of  their  society :  to  the  latest  period 
of  his  life,  he  never  spoke  of  the  former  but  as  his  "  dear 
mother." 

When  he  had  served  five  years  of  his  apprenticeship,  it 
pleased  God  to  deprive  him  of  his  father,  and  thus  to  bring 
Jnto  active  exertion  that  warmth  of  affection,  and  excel- 
lence of  principle,  which  might  otherwise  have  remained 
concealed.  The  death  of  his  father  was  sudden.  He  was 
drowned  in  the  Thames,  while  eno^ed  in  the  duties  of  his 
calling.  Many  plans  were  immediately  devised  by  Thomas 
for  the  support  of  his  mother  and  sisters  :  he  at  first  thought 
of  obtaining  from  his  master  a  release  from  the  remainder 
of  his  apprenticeship,  but  this  he  was  not  able  to  accom- 
plish. A  circumstance,  apparently  trifling,  but  in  its  results 
evidently  providential,  led  to  one  of  his  sisters  procuring  a 
supply  of  needle-work  :  the  rest  joined  their  efforts  to  hers, 
and  by  their  skill  and  industry,  they  supported  themselves, 
for  some  years,  with  credit.     Thomas  used  to  sit  with  them 


THE  HONEST  WATERMAN  5 

during  the  evening,  and  cheer  their  labors  by  his  company, 
at  the  conclusion  of  his  own. 

Young  Mann  had  been  led  to  expect  that,  at  the  con- 
clusion of  his  apprenticeship,  he  should  be  presented  by  his 
master  with  the  boat  in  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
ply  :  he  was  not  only  disappointed  in  this  hope,  but  further 
chagrined  by  his  master's  selling  the  boat  without  apprising 
him  of  any  such  intention.  He  was,  therefore,  obliged  to 
begin  the  world  with  a  few  pence  which  his  mistress  gave 
him,  his  only  boon  at  the  expiration  of  seven  years'  diligent 
service.  He  was  of  a  spirit  not  to  be  discouraged  by  diffi- 
culties ;  and,  with  an  ardor  never  diminished  during  a  long 
life,  he  entered  his  calling  on  his  own  account,  at  first  bor- 
rowing a  boat  from  any  friend  who  had  the  kindness  and 
ability  to  lend  him  one.  His  persevering  industry,  and  a 
little  assistance  from  one  of  his  sisters,  at  length  enabled 
him  to  purchase  a  new  wherry  for  twelve  pounds. 

There  was  a  peculiarity  in  the  manner  in  wiiich  our 
Waterman  performed  his  labor.  He  was  what  is  called  a 
"  Hard-rowed  Sculler ;"  and  was  generally  admitted  to  be 
the  hardest  working  man  on  the  river.  Not  only  in  his 
youth,  but  when  far  advanced  in  years,  it  was  commonly 
his  custom  to  row  as  if  matched  against  time,  endeavoring 
to  pass  every  boat  ahead  of  him,  and  to  keep  completely 
ahead  of  those  astern,  even  if  they  had  the  advantage  of  a 
pair  of  oars.  His  second  boat  carried  about  thirty  hundred 
weight,  for  the  greater  convenience  of  conveying  stores  for 
the  navy,  yet  he  never  shrunk  from  contending  with  boats 
much  more  lightly  laden  than  his  own.  He  made  a  point, 
however,  of  not  rowing  for  a  wager,  and  was  never  known 
to  lay  a  bet  of  any  kind.  It  was  his  practice  not  to  wait 
for  the  turn  of  the  tide ;  but,  wherever  his  business  took 
him,  to  return  immediately  to  his  usual  plying- place,  Iron- 
Gate  Stairs,  by  the  Tower.  After  rowing  twenty  or  thirty 
miles,  he  would  row  up  to  the  stairs  in  the  lively,  spirited 
manner  in  which  he  set  out. 

As  an  instance  of  his  power  of  body,  and  also  of  his 

33* 


6  THE  HONEST  WATERMAN. 

attachment  to  home,  it  may  be  mentioned,  that  he  one  day 
rowed  a  party  to  Twickenham,  and  brought  them  back  to 
Brentford,  where  he  landed  them  about  eleven  o'clock  at 
night;  instead  of  passing  the  night  there,  he  pursued  his 
way  to  London,  which  he  did  not  reach  till  one  in  the  morn- 
ing. He  was  prepared  to  recommence  his  labor  as  usual  at 
six  o'clock,  remarking  to  his  nephew,  who  accompanied  him, 
how  much  benefit  they  had  derived  from  a  few  hours'  rest 
at  home. 

He  was  almost  always  fully  employed,  and  many  were 
disappointed  at  not  being  able  to  procure  his  boat ;  but,  as 
he  never  asked  more  than  the  regular  fare,  he  had  not  any 
extraordinary  means  of  increasing  his  property.  So  strict 
were  his  ideas  of  the  principles  of  justice,  that  he  frequently 
refused  or  returned  money  when  it  exceeded  the  amount 
due  to  him,  and  was  intended  by  the  donors  to  show  how 
much  they  had  been  pleased  by  his  unusual  intelligence  and 
attention.  Bystanders  would  sometimes  smile,  and  say, 
"  See,  if  I  had  been  offered  money,  whether  I  should  have 
refused  it."  Once,  when  inquisitively  questioned  as  to  his 
property,  which,  in  order  to  discover  the  exact  amount,  the 
inquirer  rated  too  highly,  Mann  replied,  "How  can  I  be 
worth  so  much  ?  I  never  got  an  easy  shilling  in  my  life." 

He  was  frequently  the  first  at  his  post  in  the  morning, 
and  gained  much  of  his  earnings  before  other  watermen 
were  out  of  their  beds.  He  thought  hard  labor  never  in- 
jured any  one.  With  the  exception  of  some  bilious  com- 
plaints, and  occasional  headaches,  he  enjoyed  uninterrupted 
health ;  nor  was  he  confined  to  his  bed  during  his  whole 
life,  till  his  first  and  last  illness.  His  food  was  simple  and 
frugal,  and  he  seldom  drank  any  thing  but  water  to  allay 
his  thirst.  During  the  summer  he  allowed  himself  cooling 
fruits ;  and  when  suffering  much,  found  tea  a  most  refresh- 
ing beverage,  and  would  take  it  in  large  quantities.  He 
used  malt  liquor  with  his  dinner  only  ;  nor  could  he  be  pre- 
vailed upon  to  share  any  of  those  indulgences  which  his 
constant  labor  would  have  rendered  very  allowable.     To 


THE  HONEST  WATERMAN.  7 

his  temperance,  to  his  industry,  and  to  the  subjugation  of 
temper  which  he  had  attained,  there  is  no  doubt  he  owed, 
under  Providence,  that  robust  health  and  extraordinary 
strength  for  which,  to  his  last  years,  he  was  remarkable ; 
as  well  as  that  competency  which  enabled  him  not  only  to 
"provide  things  honest  in  the  sight  of  all  men,"  but  to 
abound  in  acts  of  benevolence. 

His  charity  was  so  universal,  so  constantly  and  daily 
practised,  that  the  detail  of  it  would  be  as  monotonous  as 
it  was  unceasing :  a  few  anecdotes  only  will  be  related,  and 
a  few  of  the  methods  detailed,  by  which,  with  all  humility, 
he  "  let  his  light  shine  before  men,"  and  by  which  those  who 
come  after  may  be  led  to  "glorify  his  Father  which  is  in 
heaven." 

He  gave  liberally  after  charity- sermons,  and  always 
lamented  seeing  persons  pass  the  plate  without  contributing. 
"  They  love  a  cheap  Gospel,"  he  would  say.  He  had  not 
courage  to  enter  a  place  of  worship  at  which  he  was  unac- 
customed to  attend,  unless  the  sermon  was  to  be  followed 
by  a  collection,  "and  then,"  said  he,  "  I  can  enter  boldly." 
Between  the  hours  of  service,* he  would  often  walk  up  and 
down  the  streets,  instead  of  going  home ;  and  if  he  saw 
persons  who  seemed  to  suffer  silent  distress,  he  would  accost 
them  in  a  kind  manner,  inquire  into  their  circumstances,  and 
administer  relief  where  it  seemed  to  be  required.  For  this 
purpose  he  always  put  a  quantity  of  silver  into  his  pockets 
on  Sabbath  -morning.  He  used  to  say  that  it  was  a  man's 
duty,  when  he  possessed  enough  to  supply  his  own  wants, 
to  continue  the  exercise  of  his  calling  for  the  benefit  of 
others. 

One  Sabbath  he  observed  a  poor  man,  much  dejected, 
looking  carefully  on  the  ground  as  he  walked.  At  length 
he  found  the  leg  bone  of  a  fowl  or  turkey,  which  he  picked 
up  eagerly,  and  was  proceeding  to  scrape  it  with  a  small 
knife,  when  perceiving  himself  watched,  he  became  much 
confused,  and  went  on  so  rapidly,  that  the  waterman  lost 
him,  but  contrived,  by  going  round  a  street,  to  meet  him 


S  THE  HONEST  WATERMAN. 

again.  Addressing  him  kindly,  "  My  friend,"  said  lie, "  that's 
poor  cheer — you  seem  to  be  in  great  distress  ;"  and  pro- 
ceeded to  inquire  the  cause.  It  was  a  poor  mechanic,  out 
of  employ,  to  whom  he  spoke,  and  finding  the  case  a  deserv- 
ing one,  he  instantly  gave  him  all  the  money  he  had  in  his 
pockets.  He  often  mentioned  this  circumstance  as  having 
greatly  affected  him. 

He  frequently  purchased  boats,  or  parted  with  his  own, 
when  half  worn  out,  for  poor  watermen  with  families,  some- 
times receiving  payment  from  them  by  instalments,  accord- 
ing to  their  ability.  He  never  prosecuted  for  the  recovery 
of  a  debt,  or  received  interest  upon  any  sum  borrowed  of 
him  by  friends  for  their  accommodation. 

Noticing  a  person,  by  whom  he  was  one  day  employed, 
in  great  apparent  dejection  of  spirits,  he  inquired  the  cause, 
and  was  told  that  it  was  occasioned  by  the  want  of  a  sum 
of  money  of  the  utmost  importance  to  him.  He  immediately 
advanced  it,  to  be  gradually  repaid ;  and  he  said  that  had 
the  sum  been  twice  the  amount  mentioned,  he  must  have 
done  the  same,  so  deeply  was  his  mind  affected  by  the  un- 
easiness he  had  witnessed. 

A  poor  man  one  day  crossed  the  river  from  Iron- Gate 
Stairs  to  Horslydown.  Returning  soon  after  to  the  person 
who  had  rowed  him  over,  he  asked  if  he  had  left  any  thing 
in  the  boat.  Being  answered  in  the  negative,  he  was  much 
dismayed,  burst  into  tears,  and  said  he  had  lost  two  pounds, 
which  he  missed  on  landing ;  that  his  wife  and  family  were 
in  want  of  the  money,  and  he  knew  not  what  they  would 
do  without  it.  He  then  proceeded  disconsolately  over  Little 
Tower-hill.  Thomas  Mann  was  at  the  plying-place,  and, 
having  heard  his  tale,  was  seen  to  follow,  overtake,  and  give 
him  something ;  but  the  value  of  the  gift  was  never  known, 
excepting  to  himself  and  the  poor  man  whom  it  relieved. 

Equally  frequent  were  the  cases  in  which  he  relieved  the 
aged  and  infirm,  by  little  weekly  stipends,  as  a  method  of 
adding  to  their  comforts;  the  occasionally  distressed,  by 
sums  of  money  proportioned  to  the  emergency  of  their  cir- 


THE  HONEST  WATERMAN  9 

cumstances ;  those  who  were  out  of  work,  by  employing 
them,  and  paying  them  for  what  he  gave  them  to  do.  In 
this  manner  he  furnished  a  poor  man,  who  asked  alms  at  his 
door,  with*  a  quantity  of  religious  Tracts,  one  of  which  he 
was  to  present  at  every  house  in  the  neighborhood,  and  then 
remunerated  him  for  his  trouble.  Sometimes  his  stock  of 
matches,  bought  of  the  poor,  would  so  accumulate  that  he 
would  furnish  the  baskets  of  other  necessitous  persons  from 
his  store.  He  was  once  seen  going  up  to  a  poor  boy,  who 
sat  by  the  side  of  Tower-hill,  and  after  wiping  his  naked 
feet  with  a  handkerchief,  putting  on  them  a  new  pair  of 
shoes  and  stockings,  which  he  had  provided  for  the  pur- 
pose. Many  whom  he  assisted  with  articles  to  sell  in  the 
street,  were  so  struck  with  his  generosity,  as  to  declare  they 
could  not  trouble  him  any  more  ;  some,  for  whom  he  had 
procured  employment,  would  wait  on  him  to  return  thanks 
for  the  comfortable  circumstances  in  which  they  found  them- 
selves placed. 

He  was  in  the  habit  of  giving  half  a  crown  at  a  time  to 
poor,  industrious  men,  remarking,  that  it  was  to  get  them 
something  to  eat  for  the  morrow.  This  he  often  did  on 
Saturday  night.  According  as  God  had  prospered  him,  he 
was  able  to  distribute ;  and  the  gift  was  calculated  to  remind 
poor  persons  of  the  approaching  Sabbath,  and  lead  them  to 
prepare  for  it. 

When  the  minister  and  overseers  went  round  the  pre- 
cinct to  collect  money  for  occasional  charitable  purposes,  he 
was  always  grieved  if  they  passed  his  door  without  calling 
for  his  aid.  The  last  time  they  called,  which  was  when 
making  subscriptions  for  the  distressed  Irish,  he  contributed 
a  sovereign. 

He  was  fond  of  children;  his  behavior  towards  them 
was  kind  and  endearing,  and  he  would  often  purchase  cakes 
of  the  poor  people  whom  he  saw  in  the  streets,  in  order  to 
distribute  amorg  the  little  ones  around.  On  finally  retiring 
from  labor,  he  laid  in  a  stock  of  various  sorts  of  clothing, 
blankets,  etc. ;  and  it  formed  a  part  of  his  employment, 


10  THE  HONEST  WATERMAN. 

during  that  time  which  had  previously  been  devoted  to  the 
duties  of  his  calling,  to  select  from  his  repository  the  proper 
articles  for  such  as  were  in  need. 

He  contributed  statedly  and  regularly  to  many  of  the 
religious  and  benevolent  institutions.  On  those  occasions, 
when  asked  his  address,  it  was  his  custom  generally  to  say 
no  more  than  "The  Tower."  Secrecy  was,  probably,  his 
motive  for  not  becoming  nominally  an  annual  subscriber  to 
any  public  charity.  His  nephew  happening  once  to  observe, 
in  the  Sailor's  Magazine,  mention  of  a  donation  of  five 
pounds  from  "An  Aged  Waterman,"  said  to  his  uncle,  "J 
suppose  you  were  meant."  "There  are  many  aged  water- 
men besides  myself,"  said  the  old  man  coolly.  The  dona- 
tion was  to  the  Bethel  Union,  for  promoting  religion  and 
morality  among  seamen. 

He  has  been  heard  to  say  that  his  first  inyiression  of 
the  importance  of  religion  was  occasioned  by  the  death  of 
his  father.  He  then  began  to  pray  frequently,  and  to  form 
many  resolutions  as  to  his  future  conduct ;  at  the  same 
time  endeavoring  to  act  conscientiously,  and  attending  reg- 
ularly on  the  performance  of  religious  duties.  He  appears 
to  have  had  an  idea  of  his  own  ability  to  commend  himself 
to  God,  independently  of  divine  influence ;  and  a  consider- 
able tendency  towards  self-righteousness  seems  at  this  time 
to  have  existed  in  his  mind.  Through  divine  grace,  by 
searching  the  Scriptures,  examining  his  own  heart,  and 
attending  the  means  of  grace,  he  was  led  to  feel  that  he 
was  by  nature  a  sinful  and  polluted  creature,  totally  unable 
to  save  himself,  and  destitute  of  any  spiritual  strength. 
Thus  humbled,  under  a  sense  of  his  sins,  and  feeling  that 
all  his  own  services,  prayers,  and  resolutions,  were  in  them- 
selves insufficient,  he  was  led  by  faith  to  apply  to  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  for  the  pardon  of  his  sins  and  the  salvation  of 
his  soul.  He  beheld  the  justice  and  mercy  of  God  uniting 
to  secure,  by  the  atonement  of  Christ,  the  divine  glory,  and 
the  salvation  of  all  that  come  unto  him  and  believe  on  him. 
He  felt  his  need  of  a  divine  Saviour,  and  that  Jesus  Christ 


THE  HONEST  WATERMAN.  H 

was  his  onty  and  all-sufficient  Redeemer ;  and  while  the 
death  and  intercession  of  Christ  were  the  foundation  of  his 
faith,  he  felt  it  his  duty  and  his  delight  to  live  unto  Him 
who  died  for  him,  and  who  was  his  gracious  Advocate 
above.  Hence,  he  lived  a  life  of  faith  on  the  Son  of  God, 
who  loved  him  and  gave  himself  for  him.  Hence,  he  was 
constrained  by  the  love  of  Christ  to  walk  in  his  ways,  to 
obey  his  commands,  and  to  live  to  his  glory.  And  you 
too,  reader,  must  seek  the  salvation  of  your  soul  through 
faith  in  the  Lamb  of  God,  which  taketh  away  the  sin  of 
the  world ;  for  there  is  none  other  name  given  among  men 
whereby  you  can  be  saved.  And  if  this  faith  be  in  you,  as 
it  was  in  Thomas  Mann,  it  will  work  by  love,  and  lead  you 
to  adorn  the  doctrine  of  God  your  Saviour  in  all  things. 

His  observance  of  the  Sabbath  was  unvaried ;  and  on 
hearing  of  the  profanation  of  this  holy  day  by  some  persons 
with  whom  he  was  acquainted,  he  remarked,  "  They  do  not 
know  the  value  of  the  Sabbath."  He  was  accustomed,  on 
that  day,  to  take  a  lighter  dinner  than  usual,  in  order  to 
avoid  drowsiness  at  church,  to  which  the  cessation  of  his 
customary  labor  might  otherwise  have  made  him  liable. 
His  conduct  in  the  house  of  God  evinced  the  sincerity  of 
his  devotion,  and  was  observed  as  a  lesson  by  some  who 
noticed  it,  but  who  never,  till  inquiry  elicited  the  knowledge 
after  his  death,  learned  to  whom  they  had  been  indebted 
for  so  striking  an  example. 

He  set  great  value  on  the  Scriptures,  and  had  many 
parts  of  them  in  his  memory.  No  day  passed  without  his 
reading  them,  generally  very  early  in  the  morning,  in  win- 
ter by  candlelight ;  and  at  night,  after  the  labors  of  the  day 
were  ended.  He  used  to  commence,  and  read  regularly 
through  his  Bible,,  a  practice  he  had  heard  recommended 
from  the  pulpit,  by  Mr.  Newton,  under  whose  ministry  he 
sat  for  some  time  previous  to  Mr.  Newton's  death. 

He  was  a  man  of  prayer ;  his  devotion  was  regular  and 
fervent,  though  modest  and  retiring.  On  one  occasion, 
when,  after  being  restored  from  circumstances  of  apparently 


12  THE  HONEST  WATERMAN 

imminent  danger,  his  nephew  brought  him  some  food,  he 
burst  out  into  a  strain  of  gratitude  highly  spiritual  and  ex- 
cellent. 

He  did  not  rest  his  hopes  on  his  own  virtuous  conduct, 
or  his  devoted  attention  to  religious  services,  public  and 
private :  these  he  esteemed  his  duty  and  his  delight,  but  he 
did  not  make  them  substitutes  for  a  Saviour,  or  the  ground 
of  his  hopes  before  God.  No  ;  he  felt  that  his  best  services 
needed  cleansing  in  the  blood  of  Christ,  and  that  salvation 
must  be  through  his  grace  alone.  Hence,  to  humble  self, 
and  to  exalt  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  was  his  constant  desire, 
while  he  united  in  the  language  and  feelings  of  the  apostle, 
"God  forbid  that  I  should  glory,  save  in  the  cross  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  by  whom  the  world  is  crucified  unto 
me,  and  I  unto  the  world."  Gal.  6:14.  And  if  you, 
reader,  admire,  and  would  succeed  in  imitating  the  conduct 
of  Thomas  Mann,  you  must  not  fail  to  receive  these  divine 
truths  with  your  whole  heart,  because  they  are  the  secret 
springs  and  motives  to  all  that  is  truly  excellent  and  well- 
pleasing  in  the  sight  of  God. 

Such  was  the  religion  of  the  Honest  Waterman ;  arising 
from  divine  influences  governing  his  thoughts,  words,  and 
actions — influencing  alike  his  daily  walk  and  conversation, 
and  the  conduct  he  pursued  in  any  emergency.  It  was  this 
indwelling  principle  which  induced  the  open  cheerfulness, 
the  constant  equanimity,  the  unvaried  tranquillity  for  which 
he  was  remarkable ;  causing  his  peace  to  flow  as  a  river, 
and  rendering  his  life  so  serene  as  to  leave  little  of  variety 
in  its  progress. 

After  his  retirement  from  labor,  he  appeared  to  lay  him- 
self out  entirely  for  the  glory  of  God  and  the  good  of  his 
fellow-creatures;  his  acts  of  benevolence  were  continual, 
but  as  private  as  he  could  possibly  make  them ;  and  he 
manifested  a  peculiar  dislike  to  flattery,  whenever  it  was 
mingled  with  expressions  of  gratitude  for  the  benefits  he 
conferred. 

Although  adopting  a  mode  of  life  so  different  from  that 


THE  HONEST  WATERMAN.  13 

lo  which  he  had  been  accustomed,  time  never  appeared  to 
hang  heavy  on  his  hands ;  he  was  not  gloomy  or  fretful : 
the  Bible  was  his  constant  companion,  and  when  not  en- 
gaged in  reading  or  meditating  on  its  contents,  he  scorned 
to  eat  the  bread  of  idleness.  Accordingly,  besides  the  dis- 
tribution of  clothing  and  money  to  the  poor,  which  occupied 
him  during  some  parts  of  the  week,  as  well  as  on  the  Sab- 
bath, he  found  various  ways  of  employing  himself,  some- 
times using  edge-tools,  and  making  boxes,  stools,  etc. 

In  the  spring  of  1822,  the  house  in  which  he  was  born, 
and  had  resided  during  his  whole  life,  with  the  exception 
of  his  seven  years'  apprenticeship,  was,  with  several  others 
in  the  neighborhood,  pulled  down.  He  purchased  a  quan- 
tity of  the  old  materials,  and  watchful  for  an  employment 
which,  while  it  amused  himself,  might  benefit  others,  he 
sawed  the  wood  and  put  it  up  into  bundles,  which  he  sold 
to  the  poor  around  him  at  a  price  much  below  its  value. 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  the  old  waterman,  when  he  -had 
left  off  labor,  on  a  fine,  sunshiny  day,  sitting  on  a  bench,  at 
his  former  plying-place,  conversing  with  his  old  friends,  and 
with  the  younger  ones  who  had  succeeded  him.  Hither  he 
frequently  repaired.  He  always  seemed  happy  and  agree- 
able ;  but  his  mind  was  sometimes  much  pained  at  the  oaths 
and  offensive  language  which  too  often  met  his  ears.  Per- 
haps  some  of  those  who  thus  grieved  him,  have  since  seen 
the  error  of  their  ways,  and  mourned  that  they  should  have 
wounded  the  Christian  spirit  of  so  good  a  man,  and  still 
more,  that  they  should  have  broken  the  express  command 
of  a  holy  God.  Perhaps  some  of  them  may  see  in  these 
pages  the  record  of  their  fault,  and,  struck  for  the  first  time 
with  a  sense  of  its  enormity,  may  determine  to  renounce  the 
sinful  practice.  If  so,  though  it  is  too  late  for  Thomas 
Mann  to  rejoice  on  earth  at  being  the  means  of  their  refor- 
mation, yet  "joy  shall  be  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that 
repenteth." 

Sometimes  the  old  man  would  take  a  boat  and  row  him- 
self about  the  river  for  exercise ;  or,  if  not  equal  to  so  much 

Fl*sr.  War.  34 


14  THE  HONEST  WATERMAN. 

exertion,  he  would  employ  another  waterman  to  row  him  : 
occasionally  he  would  go  in  a  boat  in  quest  of  coal  for  his 
own  use,  or  to  bestow  gratuitously  on  his  poor  neighbors. 
These  gifts  were  always  made  with  much  method,  and  with 
due  attention  to  the  various  wants  of  those  for  whom  they 
were  intended. 

On  Sabbath,  October  6th,  he  was  not  well  enough  to  £0 
to  church  in  the  morning,  but  he  went  in  the  afternoon  and 
in  the  evening.  In  returning  home,  which  he  reached  with 
difficulty,  owing  to  an  affection  of  his  breath,  he  was  seized 
with  so  much  debility  as  to  be  obliged  to  ask  the  assistance 
of  an  arm  from  more  than  one  person ;  and  he  fell  down 
once  on  his  way.  During  the  following  week  he  seemed  to 
recover ;  but  on  the  week  succeeding,  being  worse,  he  con- 
sented to  have  medical  advice.  On  the  17th  of  October  he 
kept  his  bed  during  the  day,  for  the  first  time  since  his 
childhood.  He  now  desired  his  nephew  to  write,  from  his 
dictation,  the  manner  in  which  he  would  have  his  property 
disposed  of,  mentioning  his  anxious  wish  to  "  send  forth 
evangelical  missionaries."  The  various  objects  to  which 
he  wras  desirous  of  contributing,  were  then  taken  down  in 
writing,  and  the  sums  affixed  to  each  according  to  his  direc- 
tion :  on  their  being  read  over  to  him,  he  often  said,  "  That 
is  not  enough ;"  and  this  was  repeated  so  many  times,  that 
he  afterwards  found  diminution  necessary,  when  his  will 
came  to  be  regularly  made.  "  These  are  blessed  institu- 
tions," said  he,  referring  to  the  societies  to  which  he  made 
bequests. 

Being  afterwards  in  violent  pain,  he  requested  his 
nephew  to  procure  some  one  to  pray  with  him,  and  a  pious 
neighbor  wras  sent  for.  On  his  arrival,  he  asked  what  should 
be  the  subject  of  his  petitions.  "  My  dismissal  from  the 
body,"  said  the  sufferer.  His  friend  expostulated  with  him, 
questioning  the  propriety  of  such  a  prayer,  and  adding,  in 
the  language  of  St.  Paul,  "  Perhaps  your  abiding  in  the  flesh 
is  more  needful  for  us."  Mann  replied,  that  the  apostle. was 
a  great  and  holy  man,  and  could  not  be  compared  to  himself. 


THE  HONEST  WATERMAN.  15 

"Of  what  use,"  he  continued,  "can  I  be  to  myself  or  oth- 
ers ?  I  am  now  only  a  burden."  His  friend  reasoned  with 
him  on  the  subject,  and  pointed  out  the  duty  of  God's 
people  in  suffering,  as  well  as  in  doing  his  will.  No 
expression  of  impatience  was  afterwards  heard.  When 
questioned  by  this  visitor  as  to  the  state  of  his  mind,  he 
replied,  in  the  words  of  the  apostle,  "  I  find  a  law  in  my 
members  warring  against  the  law  of  my  mind.  0  wretched 
man  that  I  am !  who  shall  deliver  me  from  the  body  of  this 
death?"  He  then  added,  of  his  own  accord,  "None  but 
Jesus,  none  but  Jesus ;  my  reliance  is  on  Christ  alone,  who 
loved  me,  and  gave  himself  for  me." 

Many  of  his  sayings,  sometimes  longing  for  stronger 
confidence  in  the  Saviour,  always  expressive  of  ardent  love 
to  him,  and  an  eager  desire  for  his  appearing,  were  recorded 
by  his  nephew.  Scripture  now  seemed  quite  familiar  to 
him,  and  his  quotations  from  its  pages  were  very  frequent. 
Once  he  exclaimed,  "  0,  that  blessed  book !  0,  that  men 
would  take  it  for  their  guide !"  Sometimes  he  was  enabled 
to  rejoice  in  the  hope  of  the  glory  of  God.  Happening  to 
say  that  he  felt  no  pain,  his  nephew  remarked,  "  That  is  a 
mercy."  "Yes,"  said  he,  "I  am  made  up  of  mercies,  and 
that  through  no  merit  of  my  own."  Being  asked  to  take 
some  wine,  he  said,  "  I  have  got  the  wine  of  the  New  Je- 
rusalem— the  wine  of  the  consolation  of  Christ — I,  a  poor, 
guilty,  depraved  creature — nothing  but  Christ  and  his  sal- 
vation." 

In  the  midst  of  acute  pain  he  exclaimed,  "Lord,  thy 
sufferings  were  great  when  thou  criedst,  'My  God,  my  God, 
why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  V  and  in  the  agony  of  the  gar- 
den, when  thou  saidst,  '  My  soul  is  exceeding  sorrowful, 
even  unto  death.'  "  In  similar  circumstances  he  said,  "  Thou 
knowest  I  have  cried  heartily  in  thy  house  for  *  deliverance 
in  the  hour  of  death,  and  in  the  day  of  judgment ;'  0  Father, 
Son,  and  Holy  Spirit,  the  great  incomprehensible  Jehovah, 
help  my  feeble  frame !  I  am  very  weak ;  but  no — no  wrath. 
0,  it  was  a  joyful  sound  of  the  angelic  host.     *  Glory  to 


16  THE  HONEST  WATERMAN. 

God  in  the  highest.'     Joy,  joy,  joy,  in  the  presence  of  the 
angels." 

Being  desired  to  keep  himself  warm  and  comfortable, 
he  said,  "My  comfort  is  in  death,  when  I  shall  join  the 
heavenly  throng, 

1  Then  will  I  sing  more  sweet,  more  loud, 
And  Christ"  shall  be  my  song.' " 

Many  were  the  hymns  and  texts  of  Scripture  which,  in 
the  intervals  of  pain,  he  quoted :  unconnected  us  they  were, 
they  showed  where  his  thoughts  were  fixed,  and  what  was 
the  prevailing  tenor  of  his  mind. 

To  a  little  girl  who  came  to  make  inquiries,  in  the  hope 
of  seeing  him,  he  said,  "  The  fear  of  God  is  the  guard  of 
youth  ;  0  give  yourself  up  to  him  without  reserve." 

Though  variously  exercised,  sometimes  depressed  by  a 
deep  sense  of  unworthiness,  and  by  a  natural  dread  of  pain 
and  of  death,  his  mind  appears  to  have  been  still  fixed  on 
spiritual  things,  and  his  whole  conversation  was  either  drawn 
from  the  oracles  of  truth,  or  related  to  his  own  religious 
feelings.  Short  petitions  for  the  spread  of  the  Gospel,  for 
the  good  of  others,  for  his  own  pardon  and  acceptance  with 
God,  were  frequently  uttered.  They  were  occasionally 
indistinct,  but  always  scriptural.  "  I  can  say  the  Lord's 
prayer  from  my  heart,"  he  once  exclaimed ;  "Lord,  let  my 
will  be  dissolved  in  thine.  I  know  that  Jesus  Christ  has 
lived  and  died  for  me,  and  purchased  my  pardon  with  his 
most  precious  blood."  At  another  time,  "  I  desire  to  be 
where  Mr.  Newton  wished  to  be — at  the  foot  of  the  thief 
on  the  cross."  "The  best  of  doings  is  worth  nothing." 
"  My  object  has  been  to  hate  sin,  and  flee  from  it.  I  have 
hated  it  with  a  perfect  hatred."  "I  can  say,  with  pious 
Job,  '  Thy  hand  is  heavy  upon  me,  but  thy  comforts  delight 
my  soul.'  " 

Being  told  that  one  of  the  pocket-books  for  1823  con- 
tained a  portrait  of  the  Rev.  Thomas  Scott,  he  mentioned 
the  last  time  he  had  heard  him  preach ;  and  then  spoke  of 


THE  HONEST  WATERMAN.  17 

the  late  Rev.  Mr.  Foster,  adding,  "  They  are  now  before  the 
throne — 0,  that  I  was  with  them  !" 

He  continued  expressing  himself  in  a  similar  manner,  till 
he  was  reduced  so  low  as  to  be  unable  to  speak,  and  only 
capable  of  making  signs.  After  remaining  a  short  time  in 
a  state  of  extreme  debility,  he  suddenly  appeared  to  revive, 
recovered  strength  sufficient  to  take  some  nourishment,  and 
was  spared  several  weeks  afterwards.  One  day,  while  still 
very  weak,  his  nephew,  sitting  by  his  bedside,  begun  hum- 
ming the  hundredth  psalm,  when  the  old  man  joined  him, 
and  recollected  some  verses  which  the  nephew  had  forgot- 
ten. Afterwards  he  began,  and  they  sung  together  that 
beautiful  hymn  of  Dr.  Watts: 

"  When  I  survey  the  wondrous  cross 
On  which  the  Prince  of  gfory  died, 
My  richest  gain  I  count  but  loss, 
And  pour  contempt  on  all  my  pride." 

This  was  the  only  time  at  which  he  was  ever  heard  to 
sing,  unless  when  joining  in  public  worship. 

Soon  afterwards,  one  morning,  when  left  alone,  he  was 
heard  to  fall.  His  nephew  instantly  repaired  to  him,  and 
found  that  he  had  fallen  on  his  side  from  his  knees,  through 
weakness.  On  being  raised,  he  again  requested  to  be  left, 
in  order  to  continue  the  private  worship  in  which  he  was 
engaged. 

Some  hopes  were  now  entertained  of  his  recovery,  pain 
having  left  him,  and  debility  being  his  only  remaining  com- 
plaint. But  his  constitution  had  sustained  a  shock  so  severe 
that  the  prospect  was  speedily  relinquished.  He  was,  how- 
ever, again  able  to  go  down  stairs ;  and,  though  extremely 
apprehensive  of  proving  troublesome,  he  was  at  length  pre- 
vailed on  to  allow  himself  to  be  removed  to  his  nephew's 
bouse.  There  it  was  his  custom  to  retire  early  to  rest ; 
but  if,  in  order  to  lengthen  his  repose,  his  affectionate  rela- 
tive did  not  appear  to  assist  him  to  rise  in  the  morning  so 
soon  as  he  wished,  he  would  exert  his  remaining  strength, 

34  * 


18  THE  HONEST  WATERMAN. 

and  dress  himself  unaided.  It  was  in  vain  to  mention  the 
debilitated  state  of  his  frame  as  a  reason  for  self-indulgence ; 
he  seemed  to  think  time  as  valuable,  and  as  necessary  to  be 
fully  occupied  as  ever.  His  usual  equanimity  of  temper 
continued  manifest ;  thankfulness  was  expressed  for  every 
trifling  service  he  received ;  and  he  always  aimed  to  give  as 
little  trouble,  and  cause  as  little  inconvenience  in  the  family 
as  possible. 

This  interval  of  convalescence  appears  to  have  been  very 
mercifully  appointed.  During  his  first  severe  illness,  his 
apprehension  of  continued  bodily  suffering  seemed  to  exceed 
that  which  he  was  actually  enduring  ;  and  great  anxiety  for 
a  speedy  dismissal  from  the  body  was  evidenced.  The  sweet 
submission,  holy  composure,  and  perfect  acquiescence  in  the 
will  of  God,  which  marked  his  whole  behavior  subsequently 
to  the  last  attack,  showed  that  the  season  which  had  elapsed, 
of  suspended  suffering,  and  of  comparative  ease — during 
which,  though  his  debilitated  frame  rendered  him  quite 
aware  of  approaching  dissolution,  yet  the  cessation  of  actual 
pain  enabled  his-  vigorous  mind  fully  to  contemplate  his 
situation  on  the  verge  of  eternity — was  used  to  the  utmost 
advantage,  in  acquiring,  from  the  treasures  of  the  Scripture 
with  which  his  memory  was  stored,  and  those  which  re- 
newed prayer  and  meditation  opened  to  his  experience,  that 
heavenly  tranquillity  which  led  the  Psalmist  to  exclaim, 
"  Mark  the  perfect  man,  and  behold  the  upright ;  for  the 
end  of  that  man  is  peace. " 

He  was  one  day  much  delighted  at  hearing  an  account  of 
the  conversion  of  the  Islanders  in  the  South  Seas,  exclaim- 
ing, "  Now,  is  not  that  pleasing  ?"  and  on  information  being 
communicated  from  another  part  of  the  world,  in  which  the 
efforts  for  the  spread  of  Christianity  had  been  less  success- 
ful, he  said,  emphatically,  "  If  a  man  is  dead  in  sin,  nothing 
will  awake  him  but  the  almighty  power  of  Jehovah.' \ 

Speaking  of  himself  one  morning,  in  a  cheerful  manner, 
he  applied  to  his  own  history  two  lines  of  Bunyan,  which 
were  certainly  never  more  strikingly  exemplified. 


THE  HONEST  WATERMAN.  19 

"  There  was  a  man,  whom  some  accounted  mad  , 
The  more  he  gave  away,  the  more  he  had." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  he,  "  I  have  found  it  so." 

One  night,  after  being  assisted  to  bed,  his  nephew  say- 
ing, "  Good  night,  God  bless  you !"  and  observing  the  old 
man  to  reply  only  "  Good  night !"  he  asked  the  reason,  and 
was  answered,  that  as  those  words  were  generally  spoken 
in  a  sense  quite  unmeaning,  if  not  profane,  he  never  used 
them. 

On  the  8th.  of  December,  symptoms  appeared  which 
indicated  approaching  dissolution.  The  kindly  feelings  of 
his  heart  were  still  vigorous.  Some  one  present  blamed  his 
nephew  for  betraying  his  grief.  "  You  do  not  know,"  said 
the  old  man,  "  what  a  strong  affection  there  is  between  him 
and  me."  "  You  are  not  afraid  of  death,"  said  the  nephew. 
"  0  no,"  he  exclaimed,  repeating  the  words,  "  I  am  not 
afraid  of  death."  His  nephew  calling  him  his  only  friend, 
he  said,  "  Make  God  your  friend." 

The  following  Monday,  as  he  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  he 
was  seized  with  violent  pain,  and  was  overheard  by  those 
near  him  in  earnest  prayer.  The  severity  of  his  sufferings 
extorted  from  him  a  groan :  he  afterwards  observed,  "Many 
Christians  bear  their  pain  without  a  sigh  or  groan.  How 
they  do  it,  I  don't  know ;  I  am  sure  I  do  not  cry  out  wil- 
fully or  wantonly ;  my  pain  forces  it  from  me."  He  then 
said,  "  Lord,  accept  me  in  and  for  the  sake  of  the  adorable 
Redeemer !"  On  something  being  mentioned  concerning 
God's  time,  he  said,  "Happy  time!"  This  was  a  day  of 
continued  suffering ;  and  after  retiring  to  rest,  he  was  over- 
heard importuning  his  heavenly  Father  to  pity  and  release 
him. 

The  next  morning  he  rose  without  assistance,  but  in  a 
short  time  returned  to  his  bed.  He  did  not  then  appear  in 
much  pain,  but  seemed  reluctant  to  converse,  and  said  he 
needed  rest.  In  the  course  of  the  day,  seeing  his  nephew 
with  a  book  in  his  hand,  he  said,  "  Read  your  Bible   and 


20  THE  HONEST  WATERMAN. 

pray  for  the  light  of  God's  Spirit  upon  it."  Afterwards, 
being  asked  if  he  was  happy,  and  if  he  relied  on  the  great 
work  wrought  out  on  Calvary,  he  replied,  "  Nowhere  else ; 
God  forbid  that  I  should  glory  save  in  the  cross. of  Jesus 
Christ."  One  present,  in  allusion  to  the  "Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress," said,  "  Poor  Christian  had  Hopeful  to  hold  up  his 
head  while  passing  through  the  river ;  and  you  have  a  good 
hope."  "Yes,"  said  he,  "the  love  of  God  is  shed  abroad 
in  my  heart."  Afterwards  he  added,  "  My  strength  is  per- 
fect weakness.  Finish  thy  work,  Lord,  and  let  me  join  thy 
heavenly  host,  to  sing  thy  praise  for  ever  and  ever." 

It  was  difficult  to  suppose  his  end  so  near  as  it  proved. 
He  seemed  like  a  person  taking  comfortable  repose  after  a 
long  and  fatiguing  journey.  In  fact,  his  soul  was  already 
entering  into  that  rest  which  remaineth  for  the  people  of 
God.  Being  asked  if  his  mind  continued  happy,  he  said, 
"  Yes ;"  and  to  the  question  whether  he  suffered  much  pain, 
he  replied,  "  No."  This  was  his  last  word.  He  fell  into  a 
peaceful  slumber,  which  lasted  two  hours  without  any  ap- 
pearance of  restlessness,  and  then  calmly  yielded  up  his 
soul  into  the  hands  of  his  faithful  Creator  and  merciful 
Redeemer. 

Thus  died  Thomas  Mann,  on  Wednesday,  December  11, 
1822,  aged  Id  years.  He  left  one  hundred  pounds  ster- 
ling three  per  cent,  annuities,  to  each  of  the  following  insti- 
tutions :  namely,  the  Bible  Society ;  the  Church,  London, 
Baptist,  and  Home  Missionary  Societies ;  the  Religious 
Tract  Society ;  the  Irish  Evangelical  Society  ;  the  Spital- 
fields  Benevolent  Society ;  and  the  London  Female  Peni- 
tentiary ;  also  fifty  pounds,  in  money,  to  the  Tower- Ward 
Charity-school ;  the  Wesleyan  Missionary  Society ;  the 
Lying-in  Society,  Knight  Ryder-street ;  the  Charity-school, 
St.  Catharine,  Tower ;  and  the  Bethel  Union. 

Note.  This  strictly  authentic  narrative  was  originally  pub 
lished  in  a  more  extended  form,  by  the  Religious  Tract  Society 
in  London,  one  of  the  institutions  to  which  the  Waterman  be- 
queathed 100  pounds  at  his  death. 


NARRATIVE  XIX. 

THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER. 

AN   AUTHENTIC   NARRATIVE. 
BY  WILLIAM   A.  HALLOCK, 

CORRESPONDING   SECRETARY   OF  THE   AMERICAN  TRACT  SOCIETY 


The  spring  by  the  road-side.  — See  page  10. 

It  is  the  glory  of  the  Gospel,  that  it  is  adapted  to  the 
circumstances  and  wants  of  all,  and  equally  to  the  glory 
of  its  great  Author,  that,  while  he  "  inhabiteth  eternity," 
he  condescends  to  "  dwell "  "  with  him  also  that  is  of  a 
contrite  and  humble  spirit."  Such  a  spirit  was  perhaps 
the  prevailing  characteristic  of  the  individual  whose  history 
is  now  presented  to  the  reader,  in  a  simple,  unexaggerated 
narrative  of  facts. 


.2  THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER. 

I  first  became  acquainted  with  Joseph  Beals  about  the 
year  1800.  He  lived  in  one  of  the  then  recent  settlements 
on  the  beautiful  range  of  the  Green  Mountains,  which  ex- 
tend some  hundreds  of  miles,  in  a  northerly  direction,  near 
the  western  boundary  of  New  England.  I  have  learned 
that  he  was  born,  June,  1752,  in  Bridgewater,  a  few  miles 
from  Boston,  in  Massachusetts ;  and  that  he  early  imbibed 
and  cherished  the  sentiment,  that  external  morality,  without 
a  change  of  heart,  may  secure  the  salvation  of  the  soul. 

Pecuniary  embarrassments,  occasioned  by  the  struggle 
for  our  nation's  independence,  induced  him  in'  1779  to  seek 
a  residence  for  himself  and  a  rising  family  among  the  forests 
of  the  mountains,  where  his  axe  soon  laid  open  a  spot  suffi- 
ciently large  for  the  erection  of  a  cottage,  the  sides  of  which 
were  composed  of  the  logs  he  had  felled,  and  the  roof  was 
covered  with  bark  or  flat  slips  of  wood. 

He  continued  to  make  new  inroads  upon  the  forest ;  and 
at  length,  by  the  fruits  of  his  industry,  succeeded  in  pro- 
viding for  his  wife  and  little  ones  a  more  convenient  though 
humble  habitation,  and  storing  it  with  a  sufficiency  of  the 
necessaries  of  life.  Here,  when  nothing  occurred  to  per- 
suade him  to  omit  the  duty,  he  frequently  called  his  house- 
hold around  him  to  offer  morning  and  evening  devotions : 
for  having  undertaken  to  procure  heaven  by  his  own  right- 
eousness, he  thought  family  worship  must  constitute  a  part 
of  it.  And  so  watchful  was  he  over  himself,  that,  except- 
ing his  moroseness,  his  unyielding  temper,  the  severity  of 
his  family  government,  his  murmurings  at  the  allotments  of 
Providence,  and  his  bitter  opposition  to  the  distinguishing 
doctrines  of  evangelical  religion,  his  life  was,  in  the  view  of 
those  around  him,  blameless. 

Such  was  Joseph  Beals,  when,  in  1789,  a  year  of  great 
scarcity  of  provisions,  God  saw  fit  to  teach  him  the  true 


THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER.  3 

character  of  his  heart  by  a  very  afflictive  dispensation. 
Being  absent  from  home  one  evening  with  his  wife,  at  about 
8  o'clock  the  alarm  was  given  that  his  house  was  in  flames. 
They  had  proceeded  too  far  to  be- arrested.  The  house  was 
consumed,  and  with  it  nearly  all  the  provisions  he  had  laid 
in  store.  Thus  perished  in  an  hour  the  fruits  of  nearly  ten 
years,  and  he  saw  little  in  the  prospect  but  the  wretched- 
ness of  absolute  famine. 

Here  he  found,  probably  for  the  first  time,  that  he  had 
no  true  submission  to  the  will  of  God.  He  could  not  say, 
"  Thy  will  be  done."  His  heart  repined  against  Him  who 
orders  all  things  well,  and  whose  kind  preservation  of  his 
children  called  loudly  for  gratitude.  This  led  him  seriously 
to  question  whether  his  religion  was  such  as  would  stand 
the  test  of  the  last  day.  He  found  he  could  not  endure  the 
trials  of  this  life,  and  he  trembled  in  view  of  the  retributions 
of  eternity.  For  a  time  he  struggled  to  banish  the  unwel- 
come thought,  in  his  exertions  to  provide  for  his  family ;  but 
when  the  abundant  crops  of  the  succeeding  summer  removed 
the  occasion  of  this  anxiety,  his  relish  for  earthly  pur- 
suits died  away,  and  he  had  now  become  equally  weary 
of  his  fruitless  endeavors  to  work  out  a  righteousness  of 
his  own. 

Thus  was  he  prepared,  in  the  mysterious  providence  of 
God,  for  the  visit  of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  "  convince  him  of 
sin,  of  righteousness,  and  of  a  judgment  to  come."  He  was 
brought  to  see  that  the  law  of  God  is  "exceeding  broad," 
extending  not  to  the  external  actions  merely,  but  to  "  the 
thoughts  and  intents  of  the  heart ;"  that  his  sins  were  im- 
measurably great;  that  "all  his  righteousnesses  were  as 
filthy  rags ;"  and  that  the  day  of  final  judgment  was  but  a 
little  way  before  him.  He  saw  the  wrath  of  God  revealed 
against  him,  and  neither  acquiesced  in  its  justice,  nor  per- 
ceived any  way  of  escape.     He  betook  himself  to  the  Scrip- 


4  THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER. 

tures,  and  began  to  search  them  in  earnest  for  relief,  but 
they  seemed  to  contain  no  promises  or  blessings  for  him. 
He  was  ready  to  despair  of  ever  finding  mercy.  Every  day, 
and  sometimes  every  hour  of  the  day,  he  would  retire  to 
the  forest  with  his  Bible,  and  there  attempt  to  breathe  out 
his  prayer  to  the  God  who  reared  the  stately  trees,  and 
whom  he  had  so  grievously  offended.  They,  in  every 
breeze  before  which  they  bent,  were  vocal  with  the  praises 
of  their  Creator ;  but  their  song  was  mingled  only  with  his 
bitter  lamentations,  and  his  rending  cries  for  mercy  to  a 
God  whose  praise  he  could  not  sing. 

Every  thing  he  met  seemed  to  concur  with  his  own  con- 
science in  showing  him  the  magnitude  of  his  sins,  and  deep- 
ening his  impressions  of  the  realities  of  the  judgment-day. 
When  husking  his  Indian  corn,  with  his  little  sons  beside 
him,  the  separation  of  the  good  ears  from  the  bad  so  forci- 
bly reminded  him  of  the  awful  separation  of  the  last  day, 
when  he  expected  to  hear  the  sentence,  "  Depart,  ye  cursed,'' 
that  he  could  not  continue  his  work,  but  was  -compelled 
abruptly  to  retire.  Under  these  impressions,  he  went  to 
his  impenitent  wife,  thinking  that  he  could  convince  her  of 
the  danger  to  which  they  were  both  exposed  ;  but  he  found 
that  the  Lord  only  can  affect  the  heart. 

Thus  he  continued  borne  down  with  a  sense  of  his  sinful- 
ness, and  of  "  the  wrath  of  God  abiding  on  him ;"  recurring 
to  his  Bible,  and  his  consecrated  place  of  prayer ;  silently 
presenting  himself  wherever  any  were  assembled  for  the 
worship  of  God,  and  using  all  the  external  means  of  grace, 
till  one  morning,  as  he  was  about  to  close  his  prayer  with 
his  family,  he  suddenly  broke  forth  in  new  strains  of  devo- 
tion, penitence,  and  praise  for  redeeming  love ;  and  continued 
praying,  as  his  family  believed,  for  more  than  an  hour, 
apparently  unconscious  of  the  progress  of  time. 

To  his   children,  this  fervor,  as  well  as  the  previous 


THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER.  5 

anguish  of  his  spirit,  appeared  quite  unaccountable;  for 
they  seem  scarcely  to  have  heard  that,  "  except  a  man  be 
born  again,  he  cannot  see  the  kingdom  of  God,"  John  3  :  3, 
or  to  have  known  any  thing  of  the  renewing  and  sanctifying 
influences  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  But  his  wife,  who  had 
recently  witnessed  some  other  instances  of  sorrow  for  sin, 
followed  by  joy  and  peace  in  believing,  feared  that  the  same 
result  was  about  to  be  realized  in  her  husband,  and  to  her 
impatient  and  unhumbled  spirit  the  season  of  prayer  was 
tedious  almost  beyond  endurance. 

In  the  husband  and  father  God  saw  the  temper  of  one 
now  subdued  by  divine  grace,  broken  for  sin,  and  filled  with 
arguments  by  the  manifestations  of  redeeming  love,  plead- 
ing for  mercy  with  the  humility  of  a  little  child.  In  the 
wife  and  mother  he  saw  the  proud  spirit,  which  would  not 
accept  of  mercy,  nor  consent  to  its  being  bestowed  upon  her 
husband ;  but  she  knew  not  what  blessings  were  to  descend 
on  her  and  her  children  in  answer  to  his  prayers. 

The  reality  of  what  she  feared  became  too  evident  to  be 
questioned.  Her  husband  enjoyed  a  cheering  hope  of  his 
acceptance  in  Jesus  Christ — a  hope  which  the  reader  will 
not  be  disposed  to  think  unfounded,  when  he  learns  the 
fruits  by  which  it  was  accompanied,  in  that  best  of  all  evi- 
dences, a  holy  life.  Such  fruits  of  the  Spirit,  I  cannot  but 
remark  for  the  benefit  especially  of  young  readers,  are  evi- 
dences of  saving  conversion,,  on  which  we  should  chiefly 
rely,  whether  the  particular  hour  of  our  deliverance  from 
condemnation  is  known  to  us,  as  was  joyfully  the  case  with 
the  subject  of  this  narrative,  or  not.  The  grand  question 
to  be  solved  is,  whether  we  have  surrendered  our  hearts  to 
Christ — whether,  whereas  once  we  were  blind,  now  we 
see — whether  we  have  now  the  graces  of  the  Spirit  in  exer- 
cise, proving  our  union  with  Christ.  The  manner  of  the 
Spirit's  operations  in  different  minds  is  very  diverse :  the 

Eloff.  Nar.  35 


G  THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER. 

radical  change  from  sin  to  holiness  is  essentially  the  sam& 
in  all  who  are  truly  converted  to  God. 

From  the  time  of  the  conversion  of  the  subject  of  this 
narrative,  his  heart  became  engaged  in  all  those  religious 
duties  which  he  had  hitherto  performed  with  a  cold  for- 
mality. His  hopes  of  salvation,  which  before  were  grounded 
on  his  morality,  now  rested  on  the  atoning  sacrifice  of  Christ, 
through  repentance  and  faith  wrought  in  him  by  the  Holy 
Spirit.  His  own  sinfulness,  apart  from  the  merits  of  Christ, 
appeared  greater  than  ever  before ;  but  he  saw  there  was 
perfect  efficacy  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb  of  God  to  take 
away  all  his  sins.  He  put  his  trust  in  that  Saviour,  and 
found  him  "worthy  of  all  acceptation."  His  irritable  tem- 
per became  mild,  and  his  heart  expanded  in  love  to  God  and 
man.  He  became  an  example  of  meekness  and  devotion  to 
the  cause  of  his  Redeemer  ;*  and  early  in  1791  publicly 
consecrated  himself  to  him,  by  uniting  with  a  small  evan- 
gelical church  which  had  been  formed  in  the  district  where 
he  resided. 

Immediately  after  his  conversion,  he  began  to  pray  and 
labor  fo:-  the  salvation  of  his  family,  instructing  them  from 
the  Scriptures,  and  urging  upon  them  the  duty  of  submitting 
themselves  to  Christ.  Especially  was  he  solicitous  for  the 
salvation  of  his -wife,  in  whom  the  opposition  of  the  heart 
to  vital  godliness  was  most  conspicuously  manifested.  His 
enjoyment  in  religion,  and  particularly  his  delight  in  spirit- 
ual communion  with  Christian  friends,  were  almost  odious 
to  her.  He  could  with  difficulty  persuade  her  to  attend  a 
religious  meeting ;  or  even  to  visit  her  friends  with  him,  if 
she  knew  that  Christians  were  to  be  present,  such  was  his 
apparent  delight  in  conversing  with  them.     On  one  occasion, 

after  visiting  with  him  at  the  house  of  captain  S ,  a 

relative  and  a  heavenly-minded  man,  she  determined  never 
to  go  with  him  again ;  for  his  mind  was  so  engrossed  with 


THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER.  7 

religious  topics,  that  she  thought  herself  quite  forgotten. 
He  sometimes  remonstrated  with  her  mildly ;  assuring  her 
that,  if  her  heart  were  right  with  God,  the  subject  of  re- 
ligion would  be  a  source  of  the  highest  enjoyment.  She 
was  not  inclined  to  credit  his  assertion ;  but,  in  the  way- 
wardness of  her  mind,  resolved,  as  she  afterwards  told  a 
friend,  that,  if  her  views  of  religion  should  be  changed,  he 
should  never  know  it. 

It  was  long  before  she  relinquished  all  hope  that  what 
her  companion  thought  was  a  change  in  his  affections  would 
prove  a  delusion.  She  considered  murmuring  and  peevish- 
ness to  be  his  besetting  sin ;  and  when  any  unpleasant  event 
occurred,  she  would  wait  with  eagerness  to  see  an  exhibition 
of  his  former  fretfulness — and  it  is  more  than  can  be  said  of 
most  professed  Christians,  that  she  is  believed  always  to 
have  waited  in  vain.  On  one  Sabbath  morning,  she  had 
great  hope  that  the  adversary  would  triumph  over  him.  The 
new  settlers  had  united  about  this  time  in  procuring  the 
stated  preaching  of  the  Gospel,  and  he  was  careful  always 
to  be  present  at  an  early  hour.  He  went  out  to  his  pasture 
to  take  an  unruly  horse,  which  formerly  had  caused  him 
many  a  weary  step  and  filled  him  with  wrath ;  but  though 
his  patience  was  much  tried,  he  came  in  filled  with  that 
peace  which  the  sacredness  of  the  day  and  of  the  delightful 
services  in  which  he  was  about  to  engage  were  calculated  to 
inspire. 

The  opposition  of  his  wife  to  the  spiritual  religion  he 
had  embraced,  rose  to  such  a  height,  that  on  his  being 
taken  sick,  as  she  afterwards  said,  she  even  hoped  he  would 
not  recover ;  but  he  was  enabled  to  exhibit  a  life  of  uniform 
meekness,  kindness,  and  sympathy  in  all  her  trials.  Up 
also  prayed  to  God  continually  for  her  conversion.  Nor 
did  he  cry  in  vain  ;  for  when  God  had  tried  his  servant  as 
long  as  he  saw  it  to  be  needful  for  his  discipline  and  growth 


S  THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER. 

in  grace,  lie  granted  a  gracious  answer  to  his  supplications, 
and  she  became  a  companion  with  whom  he  could  hold 
sweet  intercourse  on  the  subject  nearest  his  heart.  In 
September,  1803,  she  united  herself  with  the  church.  They 
then  went  joyfully  "  to  the  house  of  God  "  and  to  the  table 
of  the  Lord  "  in  company,"  and  were  mutual  helpers  in  their 
spiritual  pilgrimage,  till  together,  as  the  s'equel  will  show, 
they  took  their  departure  for  the  "rest"  which  "remaineth 
to  the  people  of  God."  After  her  conversion  she  felt  that 
she  could  make  no  sufficient  atonement  to  him  for  her  oppo- 
sition. He  wished  no  atonement  but  that  she  should  faith- 
fully serve  his  blessed  Master ;  but  she  declared  to  a  pious 
friend,  that,  if  he  would  have  permitted  it,  it  would  have 
been  a  relief  to  her  mind  to  fall  on  her  knees  before  him, 
and  humbly  beg  his  forgiveness. 

Soon  after  his  conversion  he  found  his  first-born  son 
earnestly  seeking  an  interest  in  Christ,  and  the  concern  of  a 
little  daughter,  at  the  age  of  four  years,  lest  her  soul  should 
be  lost,  also  awakened  his  tenderest  sympathies.  With  this 
child,  the  incidents  of  whose  death  will  hereafter  be  men- 
tioned, he  spent  many  sleepless  hours,  endeavoring  to  com- 
pose her  agitated  feelings  by  instilling  into  her  mind  a 
knowledge  of  that  Saviour  who,  when  upon  earth,  "took 
little  children  into  his  arms  and  blessed  them." 

He  became  also  very  active  and  useful  in  visiting  the 
sick  and  afflicted  ;  instructing  those  who  were  inquiring  the 
way  of  salvation,  and  animating  the  desponding  Christian. 

About  the  year  1798  he  purchased  a  corn-mill,  which 
he  regularly  attended  during  most  of  the  remaining  years  of 
his  life,  as  a  means  of  supporting  his  family.  He  usually 
appeared  in  a  miller's  dress,  unless  when  attending  public 
or  social  worship,  and  is  remembered  as  the  pious  miller, 
probably  by  all  who  knew  him.  * 


THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER.;  9 

The  purchase  of  this  mill  was,  to  many  of  the  friends  of 
the  Redeemer,  an  occasion,  at  first,  of  sincere  regret,  on  the 
ground  that  his  confinement  to  it  must  greatly  interfere  with 
his  usefulness.  But  they  soon  saw  how  divine  Providence, 
who  is  infinite  in  wisdom,  rendered  this  circumstance  the 
means  of  good.  His  mill  became  a  frequent  resort  of  those 
inquiring  the  way  to  Zion,  and  was'doubtless  the  gate  of 
heaven  to  many  wandering  sinners.  For  many  years  he 
was  almost  always  to  be  found  there,  and  was  ever  ready  to 
converse  on  the  great  concerns  of  eternity.  Few  of  the 
children  of  God  entered  his  mill  without  receiving  some  new 
impulse  to  fidelity  in  the  Christian  life — few  impenitent 
sinners,  without  being  affectionately  warned — rarely  a  child, 
without  being  instructed  in  religion — and  none,  without  see- 
ing in  him  a  living  example  of  its  power. 

Many  instances  might  be  specified  in  which  individuals 
were  greatly  helped  in  their  spiritual  course  by  a  visit  to 
this  mill.  One  was  the  case  of  Mr.  George  Vining,*  a  man 
who,  like  the  Miller,  had  cherished  from  his  early  years  an 
undoubting  confidence  in  his  own  external  morality  for  sal- 
vation ;  but  who  had  been  led  to  see  that  his  heart  must  be 
renewed,  or  he  must  be  lost.  He  found  no  one  who  seemed 
so  thoroughly  to  understand  his  case  as  the  Miller,  and 
often  resorted  to  him  for  instruction  and  counsel.  By  the 
grace  of  God  he  was  enabled,  at  length,  to  cast  himself  on 
Christ  for  salvation,  and  became  a  steadfast  pillar  in  the 
church. 

An  eminent  and  faithful  clergyman  has  also  informed 
the  writer,  that  when  he  was  brought  to  see  his  danger  as 
a  sinner,  he  frequently  went  several  miles,  from  a  neighbor- 
ing town,  descending  and  climbing  the  long  hills,  that  he 
might  avail  himself  of  the  Miller's  counsel  and  prayers  ;  and 

#  See  Tract  No.  354. 
35* 


10  THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER. 

an  exemplary  physician  states,  that  the  Miller  was  the  first 
person  that  ever  asked  him  if  he  had  been  born  again. 

The  spot  where  so  many  thus  met  the  pious  Miller  and 
his  devout  aspirations  so  often  ascended  to  God,  and  even 
the  pure  perennial  spring  of  water  by  the  road  side,  where 
lie  used  to  drink,  bursting  from  the  rocks  in  a  basin  three 
or  four  feet  from  the  ground,  as  if  hewn  by  God  for  the 
purpose,  and  shaded  by  two  beautiful  sugar-maples,  have 
still  a  sacredness  around  them,  which  will  remain  till  all 
who  knew  him  and  feel  the  value  of  religion  shall  have  fol- 
lowed him  to  eternity. 

Confined  as  he  was  during  six  days  of  the  week,  he 
most  scrupulously  reserved  the  whole  of  the  Lord's  day  for 
religious  purposes.  And  though  he  himself  considered  the 
Sabbath  as  commencing  at  midnight,  he  usually  shut  his 
gate  at  the  close  of  day  on  Saturday ;  for  he  would  not 
allow  customers  to  be  waiting  for  their  meal  on  Saturday 
evening  during  hours  which  they  thought  holy  time,  and 
scrupulously  regarded  the  feelings  of  his  brethren  of  the 
church,  who  considered  the  Sabbath  as  commencing  with 
the  setting  sun. 

At  the  close  of  the  year  1804  God  saw  fit  to  try  him, 
and  to  honor  the  religion  he  had  professed,  by  calling  him 
suddenly  to  part  with  his  eldest  daughter,  for  whose  spir- 
itual welfare,  at  the  tender  age  of  four  years,  he  had,  as 
above  related,  felt  so  much  anxiety.  He  was  not  confident 
of  her  preparedness  for  heaven ;  but  he  was  enabled  to 
betake  himself  to  a  still  higher  source  of  consolation,  while 
he  cast  her  upon  the  mercy  of  his  heavenly  Father,  and  felt 
that  he  would  do  all  things  well.  She  was  a  lovely  daugh- 
ter, in  all  the  bloom  of  youth.  The  stroke  was  most  severe. 
He  plead  with  God  for  her,  and  was  all  that  a  father  could 
be  to  her,  till  she  was  gone ;  cheered  by  a  faith  "  the  sorrow 


THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER.  1 1 

of  the  world  "  could  not  reach,  and  laboring  at  the  same  time 
to  turn  the  tears  of  all  around  him  to  praise.  He  knew  not, 
ne  said,  but  he  as  cheerfully  gave  her  back  to  God  as  he 
received  her  from  his  hand.  His  tongue  was  loosed  in 
heavenly  conversation,  and  he  repeated,  with  much  emotion, 
the  whole  of  his  favorite  Psalm : 

"  Sweet  is  the  work,  my  God,  my  King", 
To  praise  thy  name,  give  thanks,  and  sing." 

Such  a  state  of  mind  continued,  though  with  an  increase 
of  his  spiritual  joys,  until  the  hour  appointed  for  her  burial, 
when  his  Christian  friends,  who  came  in  great  numbers  to 
sympathize  with  him,  saw  in  his  sweet  and  placid  counte- 
nance a  glow,  indicating  unearthly  peace  and  joy,  and  giving 
emphasis  to  the  words  of  salvation  which  flowed  irrepres- 
sibly  from  his  lips.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  plain  and 
affectionate  people  among  whom  he  resided,,  after  the  fune- 
ral exercises,  to  place  the  coffin  on  a  table  a  little  distance 
from  the  house,  where  all  who  were  present  might  take  a 
last  look  at  the  deceased ;  after  which  they  would  fall  back 
in  a  circle,  while  the  bereaved  relatives  approached  for  the 
same  purpose.     Such  was  the  proceeding  on  this  occasion. 

The  devout  Miller  presented  himself,  his  broken-hearted 
wife  and  children  beside  him,  and  with  his  head  uncovered, 
and  a  countenance  so  serene  and  joyful  that  its  expression 
will  never  be  obliterated  from  the  minds  of  many  who  were 
present,  placed  his  hand  upon  the  coffin's  edge,  and  in  a 
voice  mellowed  by  the  bursting  emotions  of  his  heart,  began 
to  speak  to  the  sympathizing  friends  around  him  of  the 
sweet  consolations  of  religion  in  such  an  hour.  He  appealed 
to  them,  that  they  knew  how  he  loved  her  whose  remains 
then  lay  before  him — how  suddenly,  she  had  been  called 
into  eternity ;  but  assured  them,  such  had  been  the  kindness 
and  mercy  of  God  to  him  in  this  affliction — such  the  spirit- 
ual consolations  he  had  received — such  the  smiles  of  the 


12  THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER. 

Saviour's  countenance  and  the  joys  of  his  presence,  that 
that  day  had  been  the  happiest  day  of  his  life ;  and  the 
sweet  peace  he  had  experienced  outweighed  all  the  joys  of 
earth.  Here,  said  he,  is  a  mirror  into  which  we  all  may 
look.  We  shall  soon  be  as  this  beloved  child  is.  Are  we 
prepared  for  judgment  and  eternity  ?  Nothing  but  an  in- 
terest in  Christ  will  then  avail  us.  He  urged  all  who  knew 
not  the  consolations  of  religion,  which  he  now  found  so  pre- 
cious, to  embrace  it  without  delay,  and  all  who  had  embraced 
it  to  be  more  holy,  and  come  up  more  fully  to  the  enjoyment 
of  the  privileges  to  which  their  Redeemer  invited  them. 

Thus  he  proceeded  for  some  minutes,  in  a  strain  of  affce- 
tion  and  solemnity,  that  brought  eternity  in  full  view,  and 
melted  the  hearts  of  the  whole  concourse.  On  repairing  to 
the  grave,  as  soon  as  the  body  was  lowered  to  its  long  home, 
he  began  again  to  speak  of  the  necessity  of  preparation  for 
eternity,  filling  up  the  moments  till  the  grave  was  closed ; 
and  when  his  wife  afterwards  asked  if  he  did  not  say  more 
than  was  proper,  he  told  her  such  was  his  sense  of  the  value 
of  the  soul,  he  could  not  refrain.  Veterans  in  sin,  who  had 
seldom  wept  before,  united  their  sympathies  with  the  throb- 
bing bosoms  of  youth,  in  witnessing  these  scenes;  and 
hardened  unbelievers,  as  they  retired,  were  heard  to  say, 
"  I  thought  the  religion  of  those  called  devout  Christians 
was  a  delusion.  I  once  called  Joseph  Beals  a  hypocrite  ; 
but  when  I  saw  and  heard  him  to-day,  at  his  daughter's 
funeral,  I  knew  he  had  something  to  support  him  that  I  had 
never  experienced." 

The  manner  in  which  the  Miller  was  sustained  in  this 
affliction  is  to  be  ascribed  to  no  sudden  burst  of  excited 
feeling,  but  to  special  aids  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  imparted  to 
one  who  habitually  lived  near  to  God,  and  maintained  an 
abiding  sense  that,  though  "  clouds  and  darkness  are  round 
about  him,"  "  righteousness  and  judgment  are  the  habita- 


THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER.  X3 

fcion  of  his  throne."  From  the  time  of  his  conversion,  the 
language  of  his  heart  in  every  trying  dispensation  seemed 
to  be,  "  It  is  the  Lord,  let  him  do  what  seemeth  him  good." 
From  that  period  no  murmuring  word  against  the  dealings 
of  his  Maker  is  known  to  have  escaped  his  lips.  At  one 
time,  when  a  dear  babe  was  apparently  brought  near  to 
death,  and  his  wife  expressed  her  fears  respecting  the  result, 
he  told  her  that,  much  as  it  had  entwined  itself  in  their 
affections  and  engaged  their  prayers,  he  felt  that  he  could 
resign  it  without  any  reserve  to  God,  to  do  with  it  accord- 
ing to  his  holy  pleasure. 

The  same  confidence  in  God  supported  him  when, 
nearly  six  years  after  the  death  of  his  eldest  daughter, 
he  was  called  to  bury  his  second  daughter,  at  the  age  of 
twenty- one,  who  departed  in  the  assured  hope  of  heaven. 
Though  his  soul  was  not  ravished  with  the  manifestations 
of  the  Divine  presence,  as  in  the  former  trial,  he  was  com- 
posed, and  sweetly  submissive  to  the  will  of  God. 

In  all  the  circumstances  of  his  life  his  Christian  course 
was  remarkably  uniform.  ~No  calamity  on  the  one  hand, 
however  severe,  was  suffered  greatly  to  depress  his  spirits ; 
nor,  on  the  other,  did  any  scene  through  which  he  passed 
greatly  elate  them.  A  mild  and  calm  expression  usually 
sat  on  his  countenance,  indicative  of  the  heavenly  peace 
that  reigned  within.  The  character  which  he  exhibited  in 
the  occasional  company  of  Christians,  or  in  the  meeting  for 
social  worship,  he  exemplified  also  in  his  family  and  in  his 
common  intercourse  with  men.  None  felt  so  deeply  as  his 
most  intimate  acquaintance,  that  his  holy  life  proceeded 
from  an  abiding  sense  of  the  presence  of  God,  and  of  his 
obligations  to  live  entirely  for  his  glory.  His  wife  and  chil- 
dren often  conversed  with  deep  interest  on  the  probability 
that  God  would  soon  call  him  away  from  them.     Heaven 

VOL.  VII. 


14  THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER. 

seemed  to  be  already  begun  in  his  heart,  and  he  appeared 
rather  to  "  desire  to  depart"  and  be  with  his  Saviour,  where 
sin  would  be  done  away,  and  he  should  "  see  him  as  he  is." 
As  he  was  walking  one  day  with  a  daughter  in  the  grave- 
yard, she  said  to  Jrim,  "  Father,  are  you  always  ready  to 
go?"  He  meekly  replied,  "The  prospect  of  living  here 
always  would  be  melancholy  to  me." 

In  the  summer  of  1813  the  period  came  when  his  pant- 
ings  for  heaven  were  to  be  realized,  and  when  the  prayer 
of  the  great  Intercessor  must  be  answered  concerning  him  : 
"  Father,  I  will  that  they  whom  thou  hast  given  me  be  with 
me  where  I  am,  that  they  may  behold  my  glory."  He  was 
violently  attacked  with  a  prevailing  fever,  which  in  a  few 
days,  on  the  20th  July,  released  him  from  this  body  of  sin, 
at  the  age  of  sixty-one.  In  this  sickness  he  was  calm, 
patient,  and  resigned  to  the  will  of  God ;  but  in  the  rapid 
progress  of  the  disease  he  found  occasion  to  say,  that,  though 
he  had  a  thousand  times  reminded  others  that  a  sick  bed  is 
a  poor  place  in  which  to  prepare  for  death,  he  then  saw  it 
more  clearly  than  ever  before.  But  through  abounding 
gr  ice,  he  had  long  been  ripening  for  his  departure.  It  was 
only  for  the  spirit  to  burst  its  earthly  tabernacle,  and  its 
abode  was  in  glory.  He  died  suddenly,  in  a  fit  of  faintness, 
having  had  no  premonition  that  death  was  immediately  near, 
and  with  no  opportunity  to  add  any  thing  to  that  best  of  all 
evidence  of  his  good  estate — a  life  of  devoted  piety. 

His  body  was  interred  in  the  graveyard,  near  his  accus- 
tomed place  of  worship,  where  a  plain  and  neat  marble  slab, 
bearing  his  name,  age,  and  the  date  of  his  death,  is  erected 
as  the  only  memorial  of  "The  Mountain  Miller."  A  no- 
tice of  his  death  was  inserted  in  the  county  newspaper,  with 
this  expressive  and  appropriate  motto :  "  His  presence  ani- 
mated the  Christian  and  awed  the  sinner ;"  which  would 
have  been  his  whole  recorded  story,  had  not  some  special 


THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER.  15 

indications  of  Providence  convinced  the  writer  of  this  nar- 
rative of  his  duty  to  communicate  it  for  the  benefit,  he 
trusts,  of  thousands. 

His  wife,  for  whose  conversion  he  labored  and  prayed, 
and  who  was  afterwards  so  long  the  partner  of  his  spiritual 
joys,  was  seized  with  a  fever  of  a  kindred  character,  almost 
simultaneously  with  himself,  and  died  on  the  second  day 
after  his  decease ;  not  being  informed  of  his  departure, 
though  under  the  same  roof,  till  their  happy  spirits  greeted 
each  other  in  the  presence  of  their  Eedeemer  above. 

Several  traits  in  the  character  of  the  Miller  are  worthy 
of  a  distinct  consideration. 

His  uniform  and  consistent  piety.  It  proceeded  from 
a  heart  regenerated  by  the  Holy  Spirit  and  guided  by  his 
influences.  It  was  founded  on  the  soul-subduing  doctrines 
of  the  cross.  His  conversation  abounded  in  practical  views 
of  the  holiness  and  other  perfections  of  God — the  love  and 
mercy  of  Christ — our  sinfulness — the  excellence  of  vital 
religion,  and  other  kindred  topics.  No  man  was  more  easy 
of  access  on  religious  subjects.  He  was  never  addressed, 
when  they  were  not  uppermost  in  his  mind,  or  when  he  had 
not  words  to  speak  for  Christ  and  his  cause.  If  conversa- 
tion was  introduced  on  worldly  subjects,  he  would  soon  turn 
it  to  the  concerns  of  eternity,  and  in  a  manner  so  natural 
and  familiar,  that  it  rarely  struck  the  mind  of  any  as  abrupt. 
"  Out  of  the  abundance  of  the  heart''  his  mouth  spake,  and 
"  the  law  of  kindness "  was  upon  his  lips.  When  a  man 
came  to  his  mill  angry,  because  the  poor  beast  that  brought 
him,  and  which  he  had  been  beating  unmercifully,  had  oc- 
casioned him  delay,  "What  do  you  think,"  said  the  Miller, 
"  of  this  passage,  '  Make  to  yourselves  friends  of  the  mam- 
mon of  unrighteousness  ?  •  "  At  another  time,  when  a  num- 
ber of  persons  were  speaking,  with  some  animation,  of  their 


16  THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER. 

prospect  of  removing  to  a  distant  part  of  the  country, 
"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  expect  to  move  but  once  more — and 
then  into  eternity !" 

The  excellency  of  religion  appeared  in  his  character  at 
all  times,  so  far  as  his  most  intimate  friends  can  remember. 
A  very  devoted  and  useful  missionary  to  India,  (the  Rev. 
James  Richards,)  who  went  from  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Miller,  and  who  is  now  doubtless  with  him  in  glory,  when 
informed  of  his  death,  wrote  back,  that  "he  should  ever 
esteem  it  an  honor  to  have  belonged  to  the  same  church 
with  JosEni  Beals." 

To  the  venerable  father  of  that  missionary,  who  knew 
the  Miller  most  intimately,  and  who  was  eminently  qualified 
to  appreciate  his  real  character,  the  writer  is  indebted  for 
a  letter,  some  passages  of  which  will  be  interwoven  in  what 
remains  of  this  brief  sketch.  "  Before  he  experienced  that 
change  which  was  so  visible  to  all  conversant  with  him," 
says  this  letter,  "  his  life  was  usually  regarded  as  strictly 
moral ;  but  his  religion  was  formal — partaking  neither  of 
that  love  to  God,  nor  good  will  to  man,  which  the  Gospel 
inspires.  After  the  change  in  him,  it  became  spiritual  and 
evangelical.  It  never  rose  to  enthusiastic  zeal.  It  was 
uniform  and  durable;  and  manifested  itself  in  active  life. 
He  brought  forth  much  fruit  to  the  glory  of  God,  and 
thereby  gave  indubitable  evidence  that  he  was,  in  reality,  a 
disciple  of  Christ.  A  never-failing  spring — affording  nearly 
the  same  quantity  of  pure  water  at  a  time  of  the  severest 
drought,  as  in  a  season  of  abundance  of  rain — is  a  happy 
emblem  of  the  piety  of  this  eminently  good  man." 

His  meekness.  This  was  perhaps  the  predominant  trait 
in  his  character.  The  expression  of  his  countenance  clearly 
bespoke  his  communion  with  God.  Perhaps  the  presence 
of  no  other  man  would  silence  so  soon  a  company  of  the 
rude  and  dissolute — not  because  he  attacked  them  openly, 


THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER.  17 

but  from  the  impressions  of  the  reality  of  religion  and  of 
eternal  things  which  his  presence  awakened.  Probably  he 
did  not  hear  an  oath  in  all  the  latter  years  of  his  life  ;  for 
the  most  profane  revered  him.  It  has  been  remarked  by 
a  very  intimate  friend,  that,  though  from  the  time  of  his 
conversion  always  cheerful,  he  almost  never  laughed ;  or 
if  he  did,  he  would  for  a  time  be  silent,  and  seem  to  re- 
flect on  it  as  unbecoming  one  who  must  soon  appear  before 
God. 

His  abiding  sense  of  the  uncertainty  of  life  and  the  retri- 
butions of  eternity.  The  prevailing  theme  of  his  familiar 
conversation  with  his  friends,  in  his  family,  and  in  the  social 
circle,  was  the  uncertainty  of  life,  the  importance  of  a  prep- 
aration for  death,  and  "the  glory  that  shall  be  revealed'' 
in  them  that  love  God.  These  truths  filled  and  animated 
his  soul.  .  In  the  long  winter  evenings,  when  he  would 
sometimes  fall  asleep  in  his  chair,  the  introduction  by  his 
family  of  some  topic  of  vital  religion,  would  rouse  him  at 
once,  and  he  would  kindle  into  animation.  When  he  came 
in  and  sat,  his  Bible  was  generally  before  him,  and  in  it  he 
said  he  always  found  something  new.  At  the  last  religious 
meeting  he  attended,  a  few  hours  before  the  attack  of  fever 
that  closed  his  life,  he  urged  these  truths  with  great  seri- 
ousness, and  prayed  with  great  fervency  that  they  might  be 
felt  and  practically  improved  by  all.  "He  abounded," 
says  the  friend  from  whose  letter  we  have  quoted,  "in 
speaking  of  the  solemnity  of  dying  and  appearing  before 
God  in  judgment.  His  conversation  would  never  tire,  and 
it  seemed  that  he  was  never  tired  of  religious  conversation. 
It  was  once  my  privilege  to  spend  two  days  with  him  on  a 
short  journey.  Our  conversation  on  the  way,  and  wherever 
we  called,  was  almost  wholly  on  things  pertaining  to  the 
kingdom  of  God  ;  yet  at  the  end  of  the  second  day,  the  time 
had  been  so  agreeably  spent  that  it  seemed  as  though  the 

El**  Nar.  36 


18  THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLEK. 

interview  had  but  just  commenced,  and  we  were  obliged 
abruptly  to  close  our  conversation  and  part." 

His  jweciousness  to  the  awakened  sinner.  The  conversa- 
tion of  no  private  individual  was  perhaps  ever  more  ardently 
sought  by  those  inquiring  the  way  of  salvation  ;  and  no  man, 
perhaps,  ever  felt  more  deeply  the  responsibility  and  deli- 
cacy of  dealing  with  persons  in  that  state  of  mind.     Calling 

with  a  pious  friend  on  Mrs.  B ,  in  a  neighboring  town; 

she  related  to  them  the  despairing  state  of  her  daughter, 
and  begged  him  to  pray  with  them.  But  she  found  his 
tender  heart  was  so  full,  that  for  some  minutes  he  could  not 
speak  to  lead  their  devotions.  Deeply  as  he  felt  for  awak- 
ened sinners,  he  never  sought  to  "  heal  slightly  "  the  wounds 
which  sin  had  made.  He  never  told  them  of  their  blame- 
less life,  or  intimated  that  they  were  making  progress  to- 
wards heaven,  while  they  continued  the  enemies  of  God. 
He  considered  their  views  of  the  enormity  of  sin,  and  the 
nearness  of  eternity,  as  feeble  compared  with  the  reality ; 
and  urged  them  to  surrender  their  hearts  without  delay  to 
Christ,  as  the  only  way  to  obtain  enduring  and  substantial 
peace.  He  represented  Christ  as  knocking  for  admission  to 
their  hearts — as  standing  with  «open  arms  ready  to  receive 
them ;  and  urged  them  no  longer  to  resist  such  love,  but  to 
make  the  surrender  of  their  all  to  him.  When,  in  the  social 
meeting,  he  rose  to  say  a  word  for  the  cause  of  Zion,  or  to 
lead  in  prayer,  those  who  were  anxious  for  their  salvation 
listened  with  eagerness.  They  knew  what  he  said  pro- 
ceeded from  a  heart  deeply  solicitous  for  their  welfare,  and 
felt  that  his  prayers  would  avail  with  God. 

His  perseverance  in  doing  good.  The  continual  object 
of  his  life  was  emphatically  to  persuade  men  to  embrace 
Christ,  and  serve  him  faithfully.  The  benevolent  exertions 
of  the  present  age  for  the  heathen,  which  he  lived  to  see 
commenced,  had  his  cordial  approbation ;  but  though  he 


THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER.  19 

longed  and  prayed  for  the  conversion  of  the  world  to  God, 
the  sphere  of  his  efforts  was  mainly  confined  to  the  circle  in 
which  he  moved.  Not  satisfied  with  the  opportunities  of 
usefulness  afforded  at  his  mill,  he  often,  in  his  later  years, 
committed  it  for  a  few  days  to  the  care  of  one  of  his  sons, 
and  some  time  before  his  death,  having  the  means  of  sub- 
sistence,  and  "owing  no  man  any  thing,  but  to  love  one 
another,"  he  sold  it,  that  he  might  devote  his  declining  years 
more  exclusively  to  the  welfare  of  souls.  As  an  illustration 
of  his  persevering  endeavors,  the  following  fact  is  adduced  : 
"  Monthly  meetings  for  prayer  for  the  influences  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  of  which  he  was,  if  not  the  first  mover,  the  principal 
and  constant  supporter,  had  been  established  not  very  far 
from  his  dwelling,  and  continued  for  a  number  of  years, 
when  nearly  all  on  whom  he  had  depended  for  their  sup- 
port forsook  them ;  till  at  length  only  two  or  three  attended. 
But  his  zeal — his  resolution — his  patience,  were  not  yet 
exhausted.  He  still  continued  his  exertions  to  sustain  the 
meetings — hoping  almost  against  hope — until  he  saw  a  little 
cloud  arising — a  few  drops  of  mercy  began  to  fall,  and  the 
abundant  blessing  of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  descend.  The 
neighborhood  was  thinly  settled,  but  instead  of  two  or  three, 
the  aged  and  the  young  crowded  to  attend  the  meetings, 
and  the  house  was  filled.  He  now,  with  wonder  and  de- 
light, saw  the  salvation  of  God,  and  was  actively  engaged 
in  doing  all  in  his  power  to  promote  the  good  work  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  and  in  directing  anxious  inquirers  to  the  foun- 
tain where  they  might  '  buy  wine  and  milk  without  money 
and  without  price/  " 

His  life  of  prayer.  None  had  the  privilege  of  uniting 
with  him  in  this  exercise  without  feeling  that  he  was  ad- 
dressing a  God  with  whom  he  had  intimate  communion.  In 
his  private  devotions  he  sought  to  be  unobserved,  yet  his 
family  were  not  ignorant  of  his  regularity  in  this  duty,  and 


20  THE  MOUNTAIN   MILLER. 

often  well  knew  the  sacred  moments  when  he  was  pleading 
for  them  and  others  before  the  throne  of  his  heavenly  Fa- 
ther.  His  regular  devotions  in  the  family  were  fervent. 
And  besides  his  delight  in  the  social  prayer-meeting,  he 
was  ever  ready  to  embrace  occasions  for  special  prayer. 
In  the  interval  of  public  worship,  in  the  warm  season  of  the 
year,  he  was  frequently  observed  to  retire,  with  a  beloved 
Christian  friend,  towards  a  neighboring  grove.  It  has  since 
been  ascertained  that  they  improved  that  hour  for  some 
years,  when  no  special  call  of  duty  interrupted,  in  visiting 
a  sequestered  spot  for  united  prayer — that  their  own  hearts 
might  be  replenished  with  divine  grace ;  that  the  children 
of  both  families,  and  especially  his  wife  during  the  time  that 
she  continued  impenitent,  might  be  converted ;  that  the 
Holy  Spirit  might  be  shed  down  in  the  revival  of  religion  ; 
and  the  Redeemer's  kingdom  be  advanced  throughout  the 
world. 

His  care  for  the  spiritual  welfare  of  his  family.  This 
was  especially  manifested  in  the  importance  he  attached  to 
their  regular  morning  and  evening  devotions.  He  selected 
the  most  favorable  hours,  and  nothing  was  permitted  to  in- 
terrupt them.  He  accompanied  the  reading  of  the  Bible 
with  plain  practical  suggestions,  extending  his  remarks  as 
he  thought  would  be  most  useful  to  his  household;  not 
neglecting  them  on  the  one  hand,  nor  wearying  them  on  the 
other.  He  directed  their  minds,  both  in  his  conversation 
and  prayers,  to  the  passing  events  of  Providence,  that  they 
might  notice  in  them  the  hand  of  God,  be  grateful  for  his 
mercies,  submit  to  his  chastisements,  and  suitably  improve 
his  dispensations.  All  of  them  who  survive  have  publicly 
professed  their  faith  in  Christ. 

His  deportment  in  the  house  of  God.  He  was  a  constant 
attendant,  and  always  took  care  to  present  himself  early. 
His  venerable  pastor  has  informed  the  writer,  that,  for  a 


THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER.  21 

long  course  of  years,  as  lie  entered  the  sanctuary,  a  sight 
of  the  countenance  of  the  Miller  gladdened  his-  heart,  for 
he  knew  he  should  have  at  least  one  hearer  who  would  be 
attentive,  who  would  love  the  truth,  and  whose  prayers 
would  be  ascending  for  the  presence  and  blessing  of  God. 
Ministers,  who  for  the  first  time  addressed  the  conoreo-ation, 

'  DO* 

would  distinguish  him  from  the  rest  of  the  audience,  and 
say  they  could  with  pleasure  preach  to  him,  if  they  had  no 
other  attentive  hearer.  He  did  not  discourage  his  minister 
by  sleeping.  His  heavenly  deportment  seemed  to  say, 
"  How  amiable  are  thy  tabernacles,  0  Lord  of  hosts — 
blessed  are  they  that  dwell  in  thy  house ;  they  will  be  still 
praising  thee." 

His  temperance.  This  virtue  he  practised  not  merely  in 
regard  to  strong  liquors,  but  in  the  use  of  food ;  and  it 
doubtless  contributed,  in  no  small  degree,  to  promote  the 
rare  assemblage  of  excellencies  which  ware  combined  in  his 
Christian  character — his  uniform  cheerfulness,  his  consist- 
ency, his  readiness  to  engage  in  religious  exercises,  his 
wakefulness  in  the  house  of  God,  and  the  perpetual  eleva-, 
tion  of  his  religious  affections. 

The  combinations  of  his  character  are  thus  summed  up 

by  the  respected  friend  whom  we  have  quoted  :     "  He  was 

unusually  grave  and  serious.     He  was  neither  a  flatterer 

nor  a  slanderer — 'not  given  to  wine/  'not  greedy  of  filthy 

lucre/    for  he  appeared  almost  indifferent  to  the  world. 

He  was  sound  in  the  faith.     He  ruled  his  children  and  his 

household  well.     His  godly  example  spoke  powerfully  in 

favor  of  the  reality  and  the  excellence  of  religion.     Indeed, 

I  think  I  can  say  that  Joseph  Beals,  by  his  life,  exhibited 

a  more  eminent,  a  more  uniform,  a  more  striking  example 

of  piety,  than  any  other  individual  with  whom  it  was  ever 

my  privilege  to  be  acquainted." 

A  testimony  kindred  to  the  above  is  given  by  one  who 

36* 


22  THE  MOUNTAIN   MILLER. 

is  now  a  preacher  of  the  Gospel,  and  in  a  station  of  much 
responsibility  and  usefulness  in  the  Christian  church ; 
"  With  my  earliest  recollections,"  he  says,  "  are  associated 
the  godly  example,  the  affectionate  Christian  admonitions, 
and  the  ardent  prayers  of  the  pious  Miller.  Often  have 
1  stood  beside  him  in  his  mill,  and  heard  the  gracious 
words  which  fell  from  his  lips,  for  my  own  benefit  and  that 
of  others.  Often  have  I  hung  upon  his  lips  in  the  social 
meeting,  when  he  spoke  of  the  blessedness  of  that  salva- 
tion to  which  I  was  then  a  stranger  ;  and  seen  him  lead  in 
the  devotions,  apparently  in  the  attitude  of  the  most  inti- 
mate communion  with  God,  and  .of  even  then  bringing 
down  spiritual  blessings  from  on  high.  Often  did  I  accom- 
pany him  homeward  from  the  social  meeting,  still  breathing 
the  language  of  Canaan.  I  was,  alas,  unrenewed,  and  at 
heart  still  alienated  from  God ;  but  I  knew  that  I  must  ob- 
tain an  interest  in  Christ  or  finally  perish  ;  and  there  was  no 
man  whose  example  and  counsel  I  thought  could  do  so 
much  for  my  spiritual  good,  and  whose  prayers  for  me  I 
thought  would  be  so  efficacious  at  the  throne  of  grace. 

"  I  very  Avell  remember  the  morning  when  I  met  a  mes- 
senger who  announced  to  me  that  the  pious  Miller  was 
gone.  I  had  no  more  reason  to  value  his  Christian  charac- 
ter than  other  youth  around  me,  but  a  flood  of  tears  in- 
stantly poured  down  my  cheeks,  from  the  reflection  that 
another  barrier  between  me  and  perdition  was  removed.  I 
immediately  went  and  conveyed  the  tidings  to  a  respected 
father  of  the  church,  whose  tears  flowed  with  mine  ;  the 
heart  of  his  affectionate  pastor,  who  had  been  accustomed 
to  assuage  the  sorrows  of  others  by  administering  spiritual 
consolation,  seemed  severely  smitten,  and  a  gloom  of  sad- 
ness hung  over  every  hill,  and  forest,  and  landscape  around 
me  ;  for  although  the  Miller  was  humble  and  obscure,  and 
unknown  beyond  the  circle  of  a  few  miles,  yet  in  that  circle 


THE  MOUNTAIN   MILLER.  23 

he  was  loved  and  venerated  as  a  man  of  God  and  a  spirit- 
ual guide ;  and  the  language  of  all  seemed  to  be,  *  Help, 
Lord,  for  the  godly  man  ceaseth ;  for  the  faithful  fail  from 
among  the  children  of  men/ 

"  Since  the  departure  of  the  Miller  I  have  had  the  hap- 
piness to  become  intimately  acquainted  with  a  large  circle 
of  Christian  friends,  in  both  city  and  country,  and  I  hesi- 
tate not  to  say,  that  Avith  the  exception  of  one  other  depart- 
ed saint,  the  savor  of  whose  name  '  is  as  ointment  poured 
forth,'  I  have  never  known  any  man  who,  to  human  view, 
lived  so  near  to  God,  and  bore  so  much  of  the  image  of  his 
blessed  Master,  as  did  Joseph  Beals." 

Is  the  reader  a  follower  of  Christ  f  Let  the  example  of 
the  Miller  incite  you  to  raise  higher  your  standard  of  holy 
living.  Rest  not  short  of  the  blessed  eminence  in  piety 
which  he  attained,  nor  of  the  high  behests  to  which  the 
bleeding  Saviour  calls  you,  and  to  which,  consecrating  your- 
self wholly  to  him,  his  grace  shall  raise  you. 

Is  the  reader  only  almost  persuaded  to  be  a  Christian  ? 
Weigh  well  the  history  of  this  humble  individual,  both  be- 
fore and  after  his  conversion.  Mark  the  blessed  fruits  of  a 
spiritual  religion :  what  abiding  peace  and  joy  it  afforded 
him  ;  what  love  to  God  and  to  his  fellow-men  it  wrought 
in  him  ;  what  a  blessing  it  made  him  to  his  friends  and  ac- 
quaintance, and  the  church  of  God  ;  how  it  supported  him 
in  trials,  and  sustained  him  in  death.  Would  you  have  his 
sweet  consolations  in  life  and  in  death,  and  partake  of  his 
eternal  joys,  seek  religion  where  he  found  it.  Look  at  the 
law  of  God,  till  you  see  its  extent  and  purity,  and  the  ter- 
rors of  that  curse  it  pronounces  against  sin.  Look  at  your 
own  heart  till  you  see  how,  in  thought,  word,  and  deed,  by 
duties  omitted  and  actual  transgression,  you  have  violated 
that  law  in  the  sight  of  a  holy  God.     Behold  the  atoning 


24  .      THE  MOUNTAIN  MILLER. 

sacrifice  offered  for  you  by  our  glorious  Redeemer  on  the 
cross.  Hear  him  say,  "  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor 
and  are  heavy-laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest."  Go  and 
prostrate  yourself  before  him.  Confess  your  sins.  Tell 
him  you  are  "  a  wretch  undone."  Cast  yourself  on  his 
mercy,  and  if  you  perish,  perish  at  his  feet.  Do  this,  and 
your  soul  shall  live.  The  same  Saviour  who  said,  '"  Except 
a  man  be  born  again,  he  cannot  see  the  kingdom  of  God," 
said  also,  "  Him  that  cometh  unto  me,  I  will  in  no  wise 
cast  out."  Come  now,  and  yield  yourself  to  him.  This  is 
the  language  the  pious  Miller  would  utter  in  your  ear,  could 
he  speak  to  you  from  heaven.  Come  now;  let  nothing 
hinder  you.  Now,  while  your  day  of  probation  yet  lasts. 
Now,  while  the  voice  of  mercy  yet  speaks  to  you.  Now, 
while  God  is  moving  on  your  heart  by  the  silent  influences 
of  his  Spirit.  Now,  before  you  lay  aside  this  Tract.  Fall 
on  your  knees.  Let  your  hard  heart  break.  Give  your- 
self to  him  who  died  for  you.  "  Behold,  now  is  the  ac- 
cepted time ;  behold,  now  is  the  day  of  salvation !" 

Note. — The  Miller  lived  in  Plainfield,  Mass.,  a  mile  south  of 
his  accustomed  place  of  worship.  In  1829,  the  dwelling  where 
he  died,  and  from  which  he  buried  his  eldest  daughter,  was  yet 
standing.     His  mill  had  been  rebuilt 

A  premium,  offered  by  a  friend,  was  awarded  to  the  writer  of 
this  narrative. 


NARRATIVE   XX. 

THE  AGED  PENITENT 

OR, 

FILIAL  PIETY  REWARDED. 
AN   AUTHENTIC   NARRATIVE, 


■ 


See  Page  7. 

"When  I  first  saw  Mr.  L ,  the  principal  subject  of  this 

narrative,  his  tall  figure  and  venerable  appearance  indelibly 
impressed  my  mind.  He  was  eighty  years  of  age,  and  up- 
wards of  six  feet  in  height,  though  his  form  was  somewhat 
bent.  His  hair  was  as  white  as  age  could  make  it,  and  his 
limbs  were  yet  firm"and  vigorous.  In  early  life  he  had  been 
a  soldier  of  the  Revolution ;  and  afterwards,  for  many  years, 
had  followed  the  occupation  of  a  miller;  but  he  was  now 
cultivating  the  farm  of  a  widowed  daughter,  with  whom  he 
resided, 


2  THE  AGED  PENITENT. 

Ho  was,  however,  so  deaf  that  it  was  very  difficult  to 
converse  with  him  beyond  a  few  short  sentences.  The 
sight  of  but  one  eye  remained,  and  that  barely  sufficient  to 
enable  him  to  read.  His  love  of  this  world  continued  un- 
abated ;  and  he  seemed  almost  inaccessible  to  divine  truth. 
His  deafness  was  his  excuse  for  never  attending  public  wor- 
ship, and  the  defect  in  his  vision  afforded  a  ready  apology 
for  neglecting  the  written  word.  He  was  also  quickly 
aroused  to  anger,  and  when  thwarted,  even  in  trifles,  was 
very  profane. 

Often  have  I  exclaimed  concerning  him,  "  How  cruelly 
has  that  man  used  the  immortal  spirit  that  dwells  within 
him !  How  dark  its  habitation  now,  how  certain  its  doom 
hereafter !  So  old,  so  near  the  close  of  life,  and  so  uncon- 
scious of  his  danger  I"  I  have  turned  away,  as  we  turn 
from  some  awful  catastrophe  which  we  cannot  prevent,  but 
the  issue  of  which  we  shudder  to  witness. 

But  I  did  not  then  know  how  earnestly  and  persevering- 
ly  his  pious  daughter  was  wrestling  alternately  with  her 
God  and  her  aged  parent  for  the  salvation  of  his  soul.  The 
emotions  of  her  heart  can  only  be  understood  by  those  who, 
like  her,  have  beheld  an  aged  father  upon  the  verge  of 
eternity,  without  one  solitary  ray  of  hope  to  brighten  his 
prospects. 

That  their  beloved  friends  should  live  at  enmity  with 
the  Redeemer,  is,  to  the  people  of  God,  the  bitterest  draught 
of  affliction  they  have  to  drink  in  this  vale  of  tears.  How 
painful  the  reflection,  that  many  an  eye  that  now  beams 
upon  us  with  tenderest  affection,  may  be  averted  from  us 
in  the  world  to  come,  in  all  the  shame  of  everlasting  aban- 
donment, or  else  turned  towards  us  in  all  the  anguish  of 
despair !  Feelings  like  these  often  lie  concealed  from  com- 
mon observation,  and  are  only  poured  forth  to  Him  who 
heareth  prayer. 

The  tears,  the  prayers,  the  alternate  hopes  and  fears  of 
this  believing  daughter  are  only  known  to  Him  who,  while 


THE  AGED  PENITENT. 


be  sees  in  secret,  rewards  openly.  Her  exertions,  however 
were  not  limited  to  the  closet.  She  used  all  that  influence 
which  affection  best  knows  how  to  use  with  the  objects  of 
its  solicitude.  When,  in  some  of  Mr.  L 's  gusts  of  pas- 
sion, his  aged  form  would  tremble  with  the  violence  of  ex- 
cited temper,  and  his  lips  utter  language  which  agonized, 
her  heart,  she  would  still  throw  her  arms  around  him,  and 
with  tears  intreat  him  to  consider  his  age  and  accountabili- 
ty ;  and  then,  too,  she  would  pour  into  his  ear  such  a  strain 
of  affectionate  and  pious  eloquence,  that  before  she  left  him 
he  would  become  calm  and  abashed,  if  not  convinced. 

This  conduct  displayed  much  Christian  heroism.  There 
is  a  mysterious  principle  in  the  human  heart,  which  renders 
it  difficult  to  warn  with  faithfulness,  and  at  the  same  time 
with  tenderness,  our  near  relatives,  especially  our  superiors 

in  age.     The  daughter  of  Mr.  L might  have  pleaded, 

for  neglect  of  duty,  her  father's  age,  his  insensibility,  his 
deafness ;  but  she  sought  no  excuse.  She  opposed  to  his 
anger  the  mildness  of  a  Christian ;  to  his  obduracy,  the 
melting  tenderness  of  filial  love ;  to  repeated  discourage- 
ments, ^le  strong  confidence  of  an  overcoming  faith. 

It  was  not  until  she  had  long  hoped  against  hope,  that 
any  evidence  was  afforded  that  she  had  not  labored  in  vain ; 
and  when  that  evidence  was  afforded,  it  seemed  as  if  God 
would  show,  that  in  answering  the  prayers  of  his  children 
he  sometimes  designs  to  take  them  by  surprise. 

On  her  return  home  rather  late  one  evening  from  a  re- 
ligious  meeting,  she  was  obliged  to  go  into  the  apartment 
of  her  aged  parent  to  obtain  a  light.  She  found  the  room 
entirely  dark,  and  supposed  he  had  gone  to  rest.  Having 
groped  her  way  to  the  fireplace,  and  lighted  a  candle,  on 
turning  to  leave  the  room,  the  first  object  that  met  her  eye 
was  her  father,  kneeling  in  prayer,  and  drowned  in  tears. 
The  surprise  was  mutual,  and  mutual  embarrassment  en- 
sued. What  a  sight  for  such  a  daughter !  Her  first  im- 
pulse was  to  exclaim,  "  0  my  father !"     The  next  was,  to 


4  THE  AGED  PENITENT. 

leave  him  at  the  throne  of  grace.  She  hurried  out  to  un- 
bosom her  feelings,  and  to  intercede  at  the  same  throne. 

Whether  this  aged  sinner  had  long  stifled  the  convic- 
tions and  strivings  of  the  Spirit,  or  whether  they  reached 
him  for  the  first  time  that  night,  I  am  not  informed.  Enough 
is  known  to  testify  to  a  mighty  working  of  the  power  of 
God.  In  the  stillness  of  night,  rendered  more  silent  and 
dark  to  Mr.  L by  his  bodily  infirmities,  instead  of  find- 
ing that  rest  which  age  and  labor  so  imperiously  demand, 
we  see  him  earnestly  seeking  a  once  despised  and  rejected 
Saviour. 

His  daughter  soon  requested  me  to  call  and  see  him, 
merely  mentioning  that  she  believed  he  was  more  disposed 
than  formerly  to  attend  to  the  subject  of  religion.  In  com- 
plying with  her  request,  I  thought  it  most  probable  that  I 
should  find  him  endeavoring  to  patch  up  some  miserable 
refuge  of  lies  against  the  near  approach  of  death.  Indeed, 
so  little  did  I  expect  satisfaction  from  my  visit  to  him,  that 
on  the  way  to  his  dwelling  I  tried  to  prepare  myself  for 
disappointment. 

On  entering  his  room  I  found  him  so  attentively  engaged 
in  reading  his  Bible  that  he  did  not  perceive  me  until  some 
one  said  to  him  in  a  very  loud  voice,  "  The  minister  has 
come  to  see  you.'7  He  arose  immediately,  and  his  whole 
appearance  spoke  volumes.  I  perceived  at  once  that  he 
was  no  longer  the  careless  sinner  I  once  had  known  him. 
The  tears  trickled  fast  down  his  furrowed  cheeks,  as  he  wel- 
comed me,  not  only  to  his  house,  but  to  his  heart.  A  deep 
sense  of  his  unworthiness,  both  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man, 
was  mingled  with  overflowing  gratitude  for  my  visit.  I 
seated  myself  beside  him,  but  such  was  his  deafness,  that 
the  only  way  I  could  instruct  him  was  to  point  out  passages 
of  Scripture  suited  to  his  case.  In  this  I  was  often  intei- 
rupted  by  his  voice,  tremulous  with  emotion,  exclaiming, 

"  0  sir,  I  have  been  such  a  great  sinner — to  think  how 
long  I  have  lived  in  neglect  of  God  and  eternity :  and  nov 


THE  AGED  PENITENT  5 

I  am  so  deaf  that  no  one  can  talk  to  me  without  the  greatest 
trouble.  And  my  sight  is  failing  me  so  fast,  that  I  can  only- 
read  a  little  at  a  time.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  understand 
this  book.     I  am  not  worthy  of  all  this  trouble." 

In  this  way  he  usually  expressed  himself.  His  views  of 
sin  at  this  time  were  uncommonly  clear.  He  seemed  to  feel 
deeply  its  odiousness  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  its  desolating 
influence  upon  his  own  heart.  He  considered  himself  the 
chief  of  sinners,  because  he  knew  of  none  that  had  spent  so 
many  years  in  sin.  The  retrospect  of  that  life  was  painful 
beyond  expression.  His  long  service  of  sin  and  the  world 
overwhelmed  him  with  remorse  and  shame ;  and  his  obdu- 
racy and  hardness  of  heart  appeared  marked  with  peculiar 
aggravation.  How  bitterly  did  he  deplore  the  folly  of  his 
early  neglect  <of  religion.  What  would  he  not  give  for  the 
happiness  of  looking  back  upon  a  life  devoted  to  God.  His 
distress  was  aggravated  by  his  increasing  infirmities.  The 
fear  of  total  blindness  was  dreadful  to  him,  who  saw  that 
his  only  hope  lay  in  the  volume  of  eternal  truth.  So  anx- 
ious was  he  at  this  time  to  seek  there,  as  for  hid  treasures, 
that  he  never  closed  that  book  without  a  sigh,  and  rarely 
laid  it  aside  without  tears. 

As  I  closed  this  visit,  I  could  not  but  fear  lest  he  should 
descend  to  his  grave  without  any  clear  evidence  of  peace 
with  God ;  for  he  seemed  to  obtain  no  distinct  idea  of  the 
plan  of  salvation  through  a  crucified  Redeemer.  He  knew 
he  had  no  righteousness  of  his  own,  but  how  he  could  be 
saved  without  it  he  did  not  apprehend.  For  many  years  he 
had  excluded  himself  from  the  means  of  grace ;  and  now, 
how  could  one  who  had  been  so  long  naturally  and  spiritu- 
ally deaf  to  the  voice  of  mercy,  ever  be  taught  to  realize 
the  joy  of  sins  forgiven?  But  God's  thoughts  are  not  as 
our  thoughts.  It  would  seem  as  if  he  had  selected  one 
whose  case  appeared  so  hopeless,  expressly  to  manifest  the 
riches  of  his  grace. 

I  visited  Mr.  L during  the  succeeding  year  as  often 

E!eg.  Nar.  37 


a  THE  AGED  PENITENT. 

as  circumstances  would  permit,  but  in  all  that  time  his  soul 
found  no  substantial  peace.  He  did  not  doubt  the  ability 
of  Christ  to  save  all  that  come  unto  God  by  him,  but  his 
willingness  to  save  such  a  sinner  as  he  had  beeny  he  could 
not  realize. 

One  reason,  probably,  why  he  so  long  continued  without 
the  consolations  which  are  in  Christ,  was  his  difficulty  in 
obtaining  evidences  of  the  sincerity  of  his  faith.  The  con- 
vert in  early  or  in  active  life  finds  daily  evidences  of  his 
faith  in  the  frequent  trials  to  which  it  is  exposed.  At  one 
time  he  has  open  dangers  to  shun ;  at  another,  he  is  called 
upon  to  engage  in  active  duties.  From  his  watchfulness  in 
the  one  case,  and  his  zeal  in  the  other,  he  derives  testimo- 
nies to  his  faith  in  God.  Not  so  with  him  whom  age  or 
bodily  infirmities  preclude  from  laboring  in  his  Masters 
vineyard.  He  must  derive  his  evidences  alone  from  the 
exercises  of  his  heart — a  heart  which  he  knows  is  deceitful 

above  all  things.    Here  was  Mr.  L 's  difficulty.    He  had 

lived  long  without  God  ;  he  had  spent  the  ardor  of  his 
youth  and  the  energy  of  his  manhood  in  working  for  the 
wages  of  sin ;  and  now  that  he  had  grown  old,  and  could 
no  longer  engage  in  active  pursuits,  how  could  he  discover, 
from  any  obvious  fruits  of  repentance,  whether  he  had  really 
passed  from  death  unto  life  ?  How  could  he  hope  that  God 
would  receive  the  miserable  remnant  of  a  worn-out  life  ? 

From  the  time  of  my  first  visit  to  Mr.  L after  his 

mind  became  serious,  he  appeared  entirely  occupied  with 
the  great  concerns  of  salvation.  It  was  a  common  remark 
of  those  who  called  on  him,  "  We  always  find  him  reading 
his  Bible."  He  would  pore  over  the  sacred  volume  with 
such  intense  interest,  that  it  required  an  effort  to  divert  his 
attention  to  other  things  as  occasion  required.  I  have  no 
doubt,  from  his  manner,  that  he  was  often  engaged  in  prayer 
when  his  eyeS  appeared  fixed  on  the  sacred  page.  In  fact, 
he  received  very  little  instruction  from  any  source  except  his 
Bible  and  the  teachings  of  the  Holy  Spirit.     The  method 


THE  AGED  PENITENT. 


which  I  generally  pursued  with  him  was,  as  I  have  already 
stated,  to  point  to  such  portions  of  Scripture  as  I  thought 
suited  his  case,  but  his  deafness  precluded  my  commenting 
upon  the  text.  While  I  watched  that  he  might  not  fall  into 
error,  I  was  gratified  to  observe  how  far  he  might,  in  that 
manner,  be  guided  into  all  truth.'  The  result  was,  in  my 
view,  a  triumphant  proof  that  the  Spirit  of  God  is  the  best 
interpreter.  His  dangerous  state  as  a  sinner,  ^he  holiness 
and  justice  of  the  divine  law,  the  necessity  of  a  new  heart, 
and  of  faith  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  the  duty  of  a 
total  and  unreserved  submission  to  the  will  and  sovereignty 
of  God,  were  confessed  by  him,  without  any  other  guidance 
than  His  who  has  promised  to  give  the  Holy  Spirit  to  them 
that  ask  him. 

He  removed  to  the  distance  of  some  miles,  but  several 
times  came  to  see  me ;  and  was  much  pleased  with  the  op- 
portunity of  religious  intercourse  afforded  him,  in  conver- 
sation, by  an  ear-trumpet  he  had  procured.  His  visits 
were  always  spiritual,  and  deeply  interesting ;  and  he  grad- 
ually obtained  clearer  views  of  the  nature  of  faith,  and  of 

his  own  personal  interest  in  Christ. 

j. 

I  afterwards  visited  him  at  his  new  residence.  It  was 
my  last  visit ;  and  the  impression  it  left  upon  my  mind  will 
not  be  soon  erased.  On  inquiring  for  him,  I  was  pointed  to 
the  room  he  occupied,  at  the  door  of  which  I  knocked  sev- 
eral times  ;  and  upon  receiving  no  answer,  I  opened  it  and 

entered.     Mr.  L was  seated  in  a  chair,  which  he  had 

drawn  near  the  window — he  was  alone,  and  his  back  was 
towards  the  door.  I  wras  immediately  struck  with  the  mo- 
tionless appearance  of  his  figure,  and  the  singularity  of  his 
attitude.  His  head  was  bowed  down  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  appear,  at  first,  as  if  it  reclined  upon  his  knees.  I  nes- 
itated  a  moment  before  I  approached  him,  but  could  not 
perceive  the  slightest  movement.  It  seemed,  at  first,  as  if 
the  vital  spark  was  extinguished.  I  was  soon  relieved  ;  for, 
looking  over  him,  I  saw  the  large  Bible  open  on  his  aged 


g  THE  AGED  PENITENT. 

arms,  supported  by  his  knees,  and  its  pages  wet  with  his 
tears.  I  paused  to  contemplate  the  scene,  unwilling  to  de- 
stroy its  interest.  That  form  bending  under  the  weight  of 
fourscore  years,  those  whitened  locks,  those  secret  tears, 
that  precious  Bible,  are  all  still  vividly  before  me.  How 
ong  he  would  have  remained  in  this  position  I  cannot  say. 
He  showed  no  disposition  to  move,  until  I  attracted  his  at- 
tention by  laying  my  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  Now,  for  the 
first  time,  he  told  me  of  his  "peace  and  joy  in  believing." 
Jesus  was  now  precious  to  him  ;  he  could  now  say,  "  I  know 
that  my  Redeemer  liveth." 

Let  not  the  reader  suppose  that  he  felt  less  of  his  unwor- 
thiness,  nor  of  the  indwelling  corruptions  of  his  nature.  On 
the  contrary,  he  felt  that  he  had  cause  constantly  to  exclaim, 
"  0  wretched  man  that  I  am,  who  shall  deliver  me  from  the 
body  of  this  death?"  but  he  saw,  at  the  same  time,  more 
clearly  than  ever,  the  fulness  and  freeness  of  the  redemption 
purchased  by  Christ  Jesus.  He  spoke,  also,  of  the  duty 
of  a  public  profession  of  his  faith,  and  of  the  Lord's  supper. 
Shortly  afterwards  his  health  declined  so  rapidly  that  he 
returned  to  his  daughter's  house,  where  he  died,  about  two 
years  after  that  daughter  first  found  him  engaged  in  prayer. 

His  extreme  deafness  prevented  any  connected  conver- 
sation in  his  last  hours ;  but  his  end  was  peace,  and  his 
dying  testimony  was,  that  he  w  had  a  trembling  hope,  hang- 
ing on  the  merits  of  his  Redeemer."     His  remains  are  now 

mouldering  in  the  retired  churchyard  at ,  in  New 

Jersey  ;  but  long  may  his  memory  live,  to  tell  to  youth  the 
preciousness  of  an  early  acquaintance  with  God,  and  to  age, 
that  there  is  pardon  and  peace,  through  penitence  and  faith 
in  Christ. 

And  may  this  happy  result  of  a  pious  daughter's  faith- 
fulness deeply  impress  upon  Christians  the  duty  of  earnestly 
carina*  for  those  who  have  no  care  for  themselves. 


TUBL1SHED    BY    THE    AMERICAN    TRACT    SOCIETY. 


NARRATIVE   XXI 


THE  CHRISTIAN  TRAVELLER, 


AN   AUTHENTIC   NARRATIVE. 


Having  tarried  a  few  days  in  a  beautiful  village  of  the 
West,  I  embarked  in  a  vessel  which  was  crossing  one  of  the 
great  ]akes.  Three  other  individuals  had  taken  passage, 
and  night  coming  on  found  us  waiting  for  a  breeze. 

About  nine  o'clock,  as  the  sails  were  hoisted,  another 
passenger  came  on  board.  When  we  had  cleared  the  har- 
bor he  entered  the  cabin,  and  seemed  to  suppose  that  he  was 
alone  ;  for  we  all  had  retired  to  our  berths.  The  lamp  was 
burning  dimly  on  the  table,  but  it  afforded  sufficient  light 
for  me  to  discover  that  he  was  young.  Seating  himself  be- 
side it,  he  drew  a  book  from  his  pocket  and  read  a  few  min- 
utes.    Suddenly,  from  on  deck,  was  heard  the  voice  of  the 

37* 


2  THE  CHRISTIAN  TRAVELLER. 

captain  uttering  oaths,  terrific  beyond  description.  The 
youth  arose,  laid  his  book  in  the  chair,  and  kneeling  beside 
it,  in  a  low  whisper  engaged  in  prayer.  I  listened  atten- 
tively, and  though  his  soul  seemed  to  burn  within  him,  I 
could  gather  only  an  occasional  word,  or  part  of  a  sentence, 
such  as,  "mercy,"  "  dying  heathen,"  "sinners,"  etc.  Pres- 
ently he  seemed  in  an  agony  of  spirit  for  these  swearers,  and 
could  scarcely  suppress  his  voice  while  pleading  with  God 
to  have  mercy  on  them.  My  soul  was  stirred  within  me 
There  was  a  sacredness  in  this  place,  and  I  was  self-con- 
demned, knowing  that  I  also  professed  the  name  of  Jesus, 
and  had  retired  with  my  fellow-passengers  to  rest,  not  hav- 
ing spoken  of  God  or  committed  myself  to  his  care. 

Early  in  the  morning  I  was  waked  by  a  loud  voice  at 
the  door  of  the  companion-way :  "  Here,  whose  Tracts  are 
these?"  followed  by  other  voices  in  threats  and  impreca- 
tions against  Tract  distributers,  Bethels,  Temperance  Soci- 
eties, etc. 

1  thought  of  the  young  stranger,  and  feared  they  would 
execute  their  threats  upon  him  ;  but  he  calmly  said,  "  Those 
Tracts,  sir,  are  mine.  I  have  but  few,  as  you  see.  but  they 
are  very  good,  and  you  may  take  one,  if  you  wish.  I 
brought  them  on  board  to  distribute,  but  you  were  all  too 
busy  last  night."  The  sailor  smiled,  and  walked  away, 
making  no  reply. 

We  were  soon  called  to  breakfast  with  the  captain  and 
mate.  When  we  were  seated  at  the  table,  "  Captain,"  said 
our  young  companion,  "  as  the  Lord  supplies  all  our  wants, 
if  neither  }'ou  nor  the  passengers  object,  I  would  like  to  ask 
his  blessing  on  our  repast." 

"  If  you  please,"  replied  the  captain,  with  apparent 
good-will.  In  a  few  minutes  the  cook  was  on  deck,  and 
informed  the  sailors,  who  were  instantly  in  an  uproar,  and 
their  mouths  filled  with  curses.  The  captain  attempted  to 
apologize  for  the  profanity  of  his  men,  saying,  "it  was  per- 
fectly common  among  sailors,  and  they  meant  no  harm  by  it." 

"  With  your  leave,  captain,"  said  the  young  strange^, 
"I  think  we  can  put  an  end  to  it." 

Himself  a  swearer,  and  having  just  apologized  for  hisj 
men,  the   captain  was    puzzled  for  an  answer;  but  aft 
a  little  hesitation  replied,  "  I  might  as  well  attempt  to  sail 
against  a  head- wind,  as  to  think  of  such  a  thing." 


THE  CHRISTIAN  TRAVELLER.        ,  3 

"But  I  meant  all  I  said,"  added  the  young  man. 

"  Well,  if  you  think  it  possible,  you  may  try  it,"  said 
the  captain. 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  the  oldest  and  most 
profane  of  the  sailors  seated  himself  on  the  quarter-deck 
to  smoke  his  pipe.  The  young  man  entered  into  conversa- 
tion with  him,  and  soon  drew  from  him  a  history  of  the  ad- 
ventures of  his  life.  From  his  boyhood  he  had  followed 
the  ocean.  He  had  been  tossed  on  the  billows  in  many  a 
tempest ;  had  visited  several  missionary  stations  in  different 
parts  of  the  world,  and  gave  his  testimony  to  the  good 
effects  of  missionary  efforts  among  the  natives  of  the  Sand- 
wich Islands.  Proud  of  his  nautical  skill,  he  at  length 
boasted  that  he  could  do  any  thing  that  could  be  done  by 
a  sailor. 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  I  can,"  answered  the  hardy  tar,  "  and  will  not  be  out- 
done, my  word  for  it." 

"  Well,  when  a  sailor  passes  his  word  he  ought  to  be 
believed.  I  know  a  sailor  who  resolved  that  he  would  stop 
swearing,  and  did  so." 

"Ah,"  said  the  old  sailor,  "you've  anchored  me;  I'm 
fast — but  I  can  do  it." 

"I  know  you  can,"  said  the  young  man,  "and  I  hope 
you  will  anchor  all  your  shipmates'  oaths  with  yours." 

Not  a  word  of  profanity  was  afterwards  heard  on  board 
the  vessel.  During  the  day,  as  opportunity  presented  it- 
self, he  conversed  with  each  sailor  singly  on  the  subject  of 
his  soul's  salvation,  and  gained  the  hearts  of  all. 

By  this  time  I  was  much  interested  in  the  young  stran- 
ger, and  determined  to  know  more  of  him.  There  was 
nothing  prepossessing  in  his  appearance :  his  dress  was 
plain,  his  manners  unassuming;  but  his  influence  had,  by 
the  blessing  of  God,  in  a  few  short  hours,  greatly  changed 
the  aspect  of  our  crew.  The  tiger  seemed  softened  to  a 
lamb,  and  peace  and  quiet  had  succeeded  confusion  and 
blasphemy. 

After  supper  he  requested  of  the  captain  the  privilege 
of  attending  worship  in  the  cabin.  His  wishes  were  com- 
plied with,  and  soon  all  on  board,  except  the  man  at  the 
helm,  were  assembled.  The  captain  brought  out  a  Bible, 
which  he  said  was  given  him  in  early  life  by  his  father,  with 


4  HE  CHRISTIAN  TRAVELLER. 

a  request  that  he  would  never  part  with  it.  We  listened 
as  our  friend  read  Matthew's  account  of  Christ's  crucifixion 
and  resurrection ;  and  then  looking  round  upon  us,  he  said, 
"  He  is  risen — yes,  Jesus  lives,  let  us  worship  him." 

It  was  a  melting  scene.  Knees  that  seldom  bowed  be- 
fore, now  knelt  at  the  altar  of  prayer,  while  the  solemnities 
of  eternity  seemed  hanging  over  us.  After  prayer,  we  went 
on  deck  and  sang  a  hymn.  It  was  a  happy  place,  a  float- 
ing Bethel.  Instead  of  confusion  and  wrath,  there  was  sweet 
peace  and  solemnity.  We  ceased  just  as  the  setting  sun 
was  flinging  upon  us  his  last  cheering  rays. 

" Look  yonder,"  he  exclaimed.  "You  who  have  been 
nursed  in  the  storm  and  cradled  in  the  tempest,  look  at  the 
setting  sun,  and  learn  a  lesson  that  will  make  you  happy 
when  it  shall  set  to  rise  no  more.  As  rose  that  sun  this 
morning  to  afford  us  light  and  comfort,  so  has  the  Son  of 
God  arisen  to  secure  salvation  to  all  who  accept  and  love 
uim  ;  and  as  that  sun  withdraws  its  beams,  and  we  are  veiled 
\n  darkness  for  a  season,  so  will  the  Sun  of  righteousness 
withdraw  his  offers  of  mercy  from  all  who  continue  to  neg- 
lect them.  But  remember,  that  season  is  one  that  never 
ends — one  dark,  perpetual  night." 

The  captain,  deeply  affected,  went  into  the  cabin,  lit  his 
lamp,  took  his  Bible,  and  was  engaged  in  reading  till  wo 
had  retired  to  rest. 

In  the  morning,  as  soon  as  we  were  seated  at  the 
breakfast-table,  the  captain  invited  our  friend  to  ask  a 
blessing.  "  There,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  this  is  the  first 
time  I  ever  made  such  a  request ;  and  never,  till  this  young 
man  came  on  board,  have  I  been  asked  for  the  privilege 
of  holding  prayers,  though  I  have  a  thousand  times  ex- 
pected it,  both  on  the  ocean  and  the  lake ;  and  have  as 
often,  on  being  disappointed,  cursed  religion  in  my  heart, 
and  believed  that  it  was  all  delusion.  Now  I  see  the  in- 
fluence of  the  Bible,  and  though  I  make  no  claims  to  religion 
myself,  I  respect  it,  for  my  parents  were  Christians ;  and 
though  I  have  never  followed  their  counsels,  I  cannot  for- 
get them." 

After  this,  for  three  days,  we  regularly  attended  family 
worship,  and  had  much  interesting  conversation  on  various 
subjects ;  for  there  was  nothing  in  the  religion  of  the  young 
stranger  to  repress  the  cheerfulness  of  social  intercourse. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  TRAVELLER.  fy 

From  his  familiarity  with  the  Bible,  his  readiness  in  illus- 
trating its  truths  and  presenting  its  motives,  and  from  his 
fearless,  but  judicious  and  persevering  steps,  we  concluded 
that  he  was  a  minister  of  the  Gospel.  From  all  he  saw  he 
gathered  laurels  to  cast  at  his  Master's  feet,  and  in  all  his 
movements  aimed  to  show  that  eternity  was  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  A  few  hours  before  we  arrived  in  port,  we  ascer- 
tained that  he  was  a  mechanic. 

Before  we  reached  the  wharf  the  captain  came  forward, 
and  with  much  feeling  bade  him  farewell ;  declared  that  he 
was  resolved  to  live  as  he  had  done  no  longer — his  wife,  he 
said,  was  a  Christian,  and  he  meant  to  go  and  live  with  her; 
and  added,  "  I  have  had  ministers  as  passengers  on  my  ves- 
sel Sabbath-days  and  week-days,  but  never  before  have  I 
been  reminded  of  the  family  altar  where  my  departed 
parents  knelt."  As  we  left  the  vessel,  every  countenance 
showed  that  our  friend  had,  by  his  decided,  yet  mild  and 
Christian  faithfulness,  won  the  gratitude  of  many,  and  the 
esteem  of  all. 

We  soon  found  ourselves  in  a  canal-boat,  where  were 
about  thirty  passengers  of  various  ages  and  characters  ;  and 
my  curiosity  was  not  a  little  excited  to  learn  how  my  com- 
panion would  proceed  among  them.  The  afternoon  had 
nearly  passed  away,  and  he  had  conversed  with  no  one  but 
myself.  At  length  he  inquired  of  the  captain  if  he  were 
willing  to  have  prayers  on  board. 

"I  have  no  objection/'  said  he,  "if  the  passengers  have 
not;  but  /  shan't  attend." 

At  an  early  hour  the  passengers  were  invited  into  the 
cabin,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  captain  was  seated  among 
them.  After  reading  a  short  portion  of  Scripture,  our  friend 
made  a  few  appropriate  remarks,  and  earnestly  commended 
us  to  God. 

As  soon  as  he  rose  from  prayer,  a  gentleman  whose  head 
was  whitening  for  the  grave,  said,  "  Sir,  I  should  like  to 
converse  with  you.  I  profess  to  be  a  Deist.  I  once  pro- 
fessed religion,  but  now  I  believe  it  is  all  delusion." 

"Sir,"  said  the  young  man,  "I  respect  age,  and  will 
listen  to  you ;  and  as  you  proceed,  may,  perhaps,  ask  a  few 
questions ;  but  I  cannot  debate,  I  can  only  say  that  I  must 
love  Jesus  Christ.  He  died  to  save  me,  and  I  am  a  great 
sinner." 


Q  THE  CHRISTIAN  TRAVELLER. 

"  I  do  not  deny  that  men  are  sinners,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  but  I  don't  believe  in  Christ." 

"  Will  you,  then,  tell  us  how  sinners  can  be  saved  in 
some  other  way,  and  God's  law  be  honored  ?" 

We  waited  in  vain  for  a  reply,  when  my  friend  proceed- 
ed :  "  Not  many  years  since,  I  was  an  infidel,  because  I  did 
not  love  the  truth,  and  was  unwilling  to  examine  it.  Now 
I  see  my  error ;  and  the  more  I  study  the  Bible,  the  firmer 
is  my  conviction  of  its  truth,  and  that  there  is  no  way  of 
salvation  but  through  a  crucified  Redeemer." 

As  the  passengers  sat  engaged  in  conversation,  one  of 
them  at  length  turned  to  our  young  friend,  and  related  the 
circumstances  of  a  murder  recently  perpetrated  by  a  man  in 
the  neighborhood  while  in  a  fit  of  intoxication.  To  this  all 
paid  the  strictest  attention.  The  captain  joined  them  to 
hear  the  story,  the  conclusion  of  which  afforded  an  oppor- 
tunity for  the  stranger  to  begin  his  work.  He  was  the  fear- 
less advocate  of  Temperance  as  well  as  religion,  and  here 
gained  some  friends  to  this  cause. 

"  But,"  said  he  at  length,  "  though  alcohol  occasions  an 
immense  amount  of  crime  and  misery  in  our  world,  I  recol- 
lect one  instance  of  murder  with  which  it  had  no  connec- 
tion." He  then  related,  as  nearly  as  I  can  remember,  the 
following  story. 

"  In  a  populous  city  at  the  East  was  a  man  who  seemed 
to  live  only  for  the  good  of  others.  He  daily  exhibited  the 
most  perfect  benevolence  towards  his  fellow-men ;  sought 
out  the  poor  and  needy,  and  relieved  their  wants ;  sympa- 
thized with  and  comforted  the  sick  and  the  afflicted ;  and 
though  he  was  rich,  his  unsparing  beneficence  reduced  him 
to  poverty.  He  deserved  the  esteem  of  all,  yet  he  had  en- 
emies. He  took  no  part  in  politics,  yetr  many  feared  that 
his  "generosity  was  a  cloak  of  ambition,  and  that  he  was 
making  friends  in,  order  to  secure  to  himself  the  reins  of 
government.  Others  feared  that  his  religious  sentiments, 
connected  with  his  consistent  life,  would  expose  their  hy- 
pocrisy. At  length  a  mock  trial  was  held  by  an  infuriated 
mob,  and  he  was  condemned  and  put  to  death." 

"Where  was  that?"  "When  was  it?"  "Who  was 
it  ?"  was  heard  from  several  voices. 

"  It  was  in  the  city  of  Jerusalem,  and  the  person  was 
none  other  than  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.     By  his  enemies 


THE  CHRISTIAN  TRAVELLER.  7 

he  was  hung  upon  the  cross,  and  for  us  guilty  sinners  he 
died." 

Every  eye  was  fixed  upon  the  young  man,  and  a  solemn 
awe  rested  on  every  countenance.  He  opened  a  Bible  which 
lay  upon  the  table,  and  read  the  account  of  Christ's  con- 
demnation and  death :  the  captain  nodded  to  him  as  a  sig- 
nal for  prayer,  and  we  all  again  fell  on  our  knees,  while  he 
wept  over  the  condition  of  sinners,  and,  for  the  sake  of 
Christ,  besought  God's  mercy  upon  them.  Here  again  was 
a  floating  Bethel. 

In  the  morning  the  stranger  was  not  forgotten,  and  he 
evidently  did  not  forget  that  there  were  immortal  souls 
around  him,  hastening  with  him  to  the  bar  of  God.  During 
the  day  he  conversed  separately  with  each  individual,  except 
an  elderly  gentleman  who  had  followed  him  from  seat  to 
seat,  and  showed  much  uneasiness  of  mind ;  the  realities 
of  eternity  were  set  before  us,  and  the  Holy  Spirit  seemed 
to  be  striving  with  many  hearts. 

As  the  mantle  of -evening  was  drawing  around  us,  our 
friend  requested  an  interview  with  the  aged  man. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  he,  "  I  have  been  wishing  all  day  to 
see  you,  but  you  were  talking  with  others." 

He  acknowledged  that  he  had  tried  to  be  a  Universalist ; 
and  though  he  could  not  rest  in  that  belief,  he  never,  until 
the  previous  evening,  saw  his  lost  condition.  "  And  now," 
said  he,  "  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  I  shall  do." 

The*  young  man  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  as  if  implor- 
ing the  Spirit's  influences,  and  then  briefly  explained  the 
nature  and  reasonableness  of  repentance  and  faith,  accom- 
panied by  a  few  striking  illustrations,  in  proof  of  the  justice 
of  God  in  condemning,  and  his  mercy  in  pardoning  sinners. 

The  old  man  saw  the  plan  of  redemption  so  clearly,  that 
he  burst  into  tears,  and  exclaimed,  "  0,  my  soul,  my  soul. 
How  have  I  sinned  against  God.  I  see  it — I  feel  it — yes, 
I  have  sinned  all  my  days." 

"  But  Jesus  died  to  save  sinners,"  replied  the  young 
man  ;  "  will  you,  my  friend,  give  him  your  heart  ?" 

"  0  yes,  yes,  if  I  had  a  thousand  hearts  he  should  have 
them  all,"  was  the  answer. 

The  young  man  turned  away  and  wept.  For  some 
minutes  silence  was  broken  only  by  the  deep  sighs  of  the 
aged  penitent.     There  was  something,  in  an  hour  like  this, 


8  THE  CHRISTIAN  TRAVELLER. 

awfully 'solemn.  Heaven  was  rejoicing,  I  doubt  not,  over 
a  returning  prodigal.  As  he  stood  alone  and  wept,  he  re- 
iterated again  and  again,  "  Yes,  I  will  serve  God,  I  will,  1 
will'."  After  a  time  his  feelings  became  more  calm,  and 
lifting  his  eyes  towards  heaven,  with  both  hands  raised,  he 
broke  out  in  singing, 

"  There  shall  I  bathe  my  weary  soul 
In  seas  of  heavenly  rest, 
And  not  a  wave  of  trouble  roll 
Across  my  peaceful  breast." 

And  then  again  he  wept,  and  said,  "  Yes,  0  Jesus,  precious 
Saviour." 

The  time  had  come  for  our  young  friend  to  leave  us. 
By  his  zeal  in  his  Master's  service  he  had  stolen  our  hearts, 
and  each  pressed  forward  to  express  their  friendship  in  an 
affectionate  farewell. 

Such  was  the  influence  of  one  individual,  whose  unwa- 
vering purpose  it  was  to  live  for  God.  He  felt  for  dying 
sinners,  and  relying  on  the  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit  for 
success,  labored  for  the  salvation  of  souls  around  him.  Will 
not  the  reader  solemnly  resolve,  in  God's  strength,  that 
henceforth,  whether  at  home  or  abroad,  he  will  make  the 
glory  of  Christ,  in  the  salvation  of  men,  the  one  object  of 
his  life?  When  Christians  universally  shall  do  this,  we  may 
expect  soon  to  hear  the  song  of  Zion  float  on  every  breeze, 
"  Hallelujah."  "  The  kingdoms  of  this  world  are  become 
the  kingdom  of  our  Lord  and  of  his  Christ." 


FDBLISHED    BY    THE    AMERICAN    TRACT    SOCIETY. 


NARRATIVE   XXII 


THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER, 


A   NARRATIVE   OF   FACTS. 


BY  A  LAYMAN. 


In  the  north  of  Ireland  there  lived  an  honest,  industrious 

man  by  the  name  of  M .     He  was  a  good  husband,  a 

tender  father,  a  kind  neighbor ;  and  having  had  a  better  edu- 
cation than  at  that  time  was  common,  he  was  careful  to  give 
his  children  the  advantages  of  good  schools.  By  diligence, 
sobriety,  and  the  blessing  of  God,  he  extended  his  business, 
which  was  that  of  a  linen  weaver,  until  he  had  in  his  em- 
ployment at  one  time  fifteen  journeymen. 


Eleij.  Nar. 


38 


2  THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER. 

After  some  years  the  linen-trade  greatly  declined,  partly 
m  consequence  of  the  introduction  of  cotton  fabrics  ;  and 
finding  Ins  property  so  much  reduced  that  he  could  not  sup- 
port his  large  family  at  his  trade,  he  was  led  to  embark 
with  them  for  America.  This  he  did  with  high-raised  expec- 
tations ;  and  with  joyful  heart  he  saw  his  wife  and  nine 
blooming  children  land  in  the  new  world,  of  which  his 
countrymen  had  sent  home  glowing  accounts ;  but  here  he 
was  doomed  to  experience  sad  disappointments,  as  have 
many  others.  No  employment  could  be  had  in  weaving 
linen  ;  but  his  good  character  and  intelligence,  together  with 
his  honest  face,  gained  the  favor  of  a  merchant,  who  gave 
him  employment  as  porter  in  his  store  on  the  wharf,  where 
he  continued,  and  was  much  esteemed  for  several  years, 
until  his  last  sickness  and  death. 

Finding  that  the  wages  of  his  new  employment  would 
not  support  his  large  family,  he  obtained  situations  in  re- 
spectable families  for  his  elder  daughters,  while  his  sons 
went  to  sea.  Being  active  and  zealous,  he  was  soon  con- 
spicuous among  his  Catholic  brethren  in  the  city  where  he 
lived.  He  was  strict  in  his  attention  to  all  the  rites  and 
ceremonies  of  that  communion,  liberal  according  to  his  abil- 
ity, fond  of  his  children,  and  faithful  in  instructing  them  in 
all  the  articles  of  the  Romish  church.  None  doubted  his 
morality ;  and  those  of  his  faith  considered  him  a  pattern  ol 
piety.  Being  of  a  consumptive  habit,  after  a  few  years  he 
sickened  and  died.  In  quick  succession  four  of  his  children 
followed  him  to  the  grave,  one  by  a  fall  from  the  masthead 
of  a  vessel,  and  three  by  consumption. 

The  physician  who  attended  the  family  was  a  pious 
man,  and  had  become  much  interested  in  some  of  them,  and 
especially  in  the  father  during  his  life,  and  afterwards  in  his 
two  daughters,  Betsey  and  Mary,  who  had  both  embraced 
the  Protestant  faith.  Mary,  at  the  time  of  which  we  are 
speaking,  had  been  for  several  weeks  out  of  health,  and  had 


THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER.  3 

left  her  situation  and  returned  to  her  mother's  dwelling, 
where  she  was  given  over  by  her  physician  as  in  a  settled 
consumption. 

The  physician,  during  one  of  his  visits  in  my  family, 
mentioned  that  the  sick  one  was  living  with  her  mother, 
not  very  remote  from  my  dwelling,  and  he  gave  an  interest- 
ing account  of  her,  and  of  her  mother's  opposition  to  her 
religion,  which  he  said  had  carried  her  so  far  that  she  would 
not  admit  her  daughter's  pastor  or  the  officers  of  the  church 
to  visit  the  sufferer,  but  had  threatened  them,  if  they  pre- 
sumed to  cross  her  threshold,  with  personal  violence.  He 
expressed  a  hope,  that  I  would  try  to  supply  the  wants  of 
his  patient,  if  she  was  at  any  time  suffering,  but  he  doubted 
if  I  should  be  allowed  to  see  her. 

A  lady  who  was  passing  the  day  with  us,  on  hearing 
his  narration,  readily  undertook  the  labor  of  love  in  going 
immediately  to  the  residence  of  the  mother ;  and  on  men- 
tioning the  name  of  the  physician,  she  was  readily  admitted 
to  the  sick  chamber.  The  account  she  brought  back  was, 
that  she  found  Mary  M a  most  interesting  young  wo- 
man, of  modest  manners,  extremely  neat  in  her  person  and 
in  her  chamber,  apparently  of  ardent,  yet  unassuming  piety, 
fully  aware  of  her  situation,  but  sustained  by  a  firm  Chris- 
tian faith,  with  an  unwavering  trust  in  the  merits  of  Christ, 
which  rendered  her  cheerful,  submissive,  and  happy.  On 
conversing  with  Mary's  mother,  the  lady  found  they  were 
in  immediate  want  of  nothing  but  fuel.  This  article  was 
supplied,  with  some  other  comforts,  which  were  gratefully 
received. 

After  calling  several  times  to  make  inquiries  concerning 
the  sick  daughter,  "the  mother  asked  if  I  would  like  to  see 
her ;  and  on  my  expressing  a  desire  to  do  so,  she  introduced 
me  to  her  as  the  person  who  had  taken  such  an  interest  in 
her  welfare. 

Mary  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair,  supported  by  pillows , 


4  THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER. 

hor  eyes  were  mild,  but  had  the  peculiar  lustre  which  at- 
tends consumption.  Her  cheek  had  that  usual  attendant  of 
this  disorder,  a  bright,  hectic  flush  ;  while  her  temples  and 
forehead  were  white  as  marble.  She  extended  her  hand  to 
me,  and  thanked  me  for  the  kind  interest  I  had  taken  in  one 
who  was  a  stranger.  Every  thing  about  her  and  her  room 
was  neat,  though  very  plain,  giving  indications  of  natural 
refinement.  She  had  for  a  companion  and  attendant  her 
sister  Betsey,  who,  on  hearing  of  Mary's  illness,  had  left  her 
place,  and  hastened  home  to  watch  over  and  nurse  her  be- 
loved sister,  endeared  to  her  not  only  by  the  ties  of  nature, 
but  also  by  being  her  sister  in  the  Lord,  as  both  were  con- 
verts, and  had  together  joined  the  same  church. 

Their  mother  gave  me  only  time  to  ask  a  few  questions 
before  she  broke  out  in  her  complaints  of  the  loss  of  proper- 
ty, and  the  death  of  her  husband  and  four  children  since  her 
arrival  in  the  country.  She  thought  God  had  dealt  hardly 
with  her,  and  almost  accused  him  of  injustice  in  thus  afflict- 
ing her.  I  attempted  to  show  her  that  all  his  dealings  with 
her  were  designed  to  call  off  her  thoughts  from  this  world, 
and  would,  if  she  made  a  right  improvement  of  them,  fit  her 
for  heaven,  where  she  would  find  her  lost  ones,  if  they  had 
died  his  children.  Fearing  that  she  would  receive  what  I 
might  say  with  prejudice,  and  that  I  could  make  no  lasting 
impression  on  her  mind,  I  withdrew. 

On  two  or  three  following  visits  I  was  obliged  to  listen 
to  similar  murmurs  against  Providence,  and  at  length  I  took 
occasion  to  relate  to  her  the  story  of  a  widow,  whose  only 
son  had  grown  up  a  fine  young  man,  and  was  the  solace  and 
stay  of  his  only  parent,  when  he  was  thrown  from  a  horse, 
and  brought  home  to  expire  in  his  mother's  arms.  Without. 
a  murmur  she  meekly  said,  "  The  Lord  saw  that  I  needed 
a  great  deal  of  correction,  and  he  has  taken  the  desire  of  my 
eyes  from  me  with  a  stroke  ;  blessed  be  his  holy  name,  he 
has  only  taken  what  he  had  lent  me." 


THE  WEAVERS  DAUGHTER.  5 

The  mother  of  Mary  M ,  either  from  not  relishing 

such  sentiments,  or  from  some  other  cause,  seldom  made 
any  stay  afterwards  in  her  daughter's  chamber  while  I  was 
there,  but  suffered  me  to  converse  with  her  without  inter- 
ruption, which  I  was  earnestly  desirous  of  doing.  I  found 
her  to  be  a  young  woman  of  devoted  piety,  sustained  by  a 
cheerful  hope  and  lively  faith,  wholly  resigned  to  the  will 
of  God,  not  expecting,  nor  apparently  wishing  to  recover : 
nor  do  I  now  recollect  that  she  at  any  subsequent  time  made 
any  allusion  to  getting  well.  Her  whole  thoughts  were 
upon  things  of  another  and  brighter  world,  for  which  she 
daily  was  growing  in  meetness. 

As  Mary  was  unable,  in  her  dark  chamber,  to  read  the 
fine  print  of  her  Bible,  she  was  supplied  with  the  Testa- 
ment in  large  type,  also  with  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress 
and  Tracts,  in  reading  and  hearing  which  she  took  great 
delight.  She  ever  spoke  with  deep  feeling  of  the  goodness 
of  her  heavenly  Father  to  her,  in  sustaining  her  during  her 
sleepless  nights,  and  enabling  her  to  have  delightful  medita- 
tions on  the  precious  promises  contained  in  his  word.  She 
never  complained  of  suffering  of  any  kind.  One  day  when 
asked  if  she  rested  well,  her  countenance  beamed  with  rap- 
ture as  she  spoke  of  her  secret  communion  with  the  Saviour 
during  her  wakeful  hours  the  preceding  night,  and  she 
seemed  to  have  had  a  foretaste  of  the  joys  of  heaven. 

On  my  expressing  a  desire  to  be  made  acquainted  with 
the  time  and  manner  of  her  conversion  from  Romanism,  she 
gave  me,  as  her  strength  permitted,  the  following  history  of 
herself. 

"  I  was  educated  in  the  strict  observance  of  the  forma 
and  practices  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion,  which  I  had 
always  been  taught  and  fully  believed  to  Be  the.  only  true 
faith.  I  attended  church  punctually,  was  well  instructed 
in  my  Catechism  and  Missal,  was  regular  at  my  confessions, 

3S* 


(j  THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER. 

at  mass,  on  holy  days,  and  strict  in  observing  our  fasts  ; 
thus  I  was  called  by  others,  and  really  thought  myself  to  be 
a  very  pious  girl,  the  favorite  of  her  whom  we  ignorantly 
worshipped,  and  after  whom  I  was  named — the  ■  Holy 
Mary,'  '  the  Mother  of  God.' 

"  But  my  religion  was  all  outward  ;  my  heart  was  hard 
and  proud,  and  my  temper  easily  roused  ;  so  that  with  al] 
this  fair  outside,  I  knew  nothing  of  the  religion  of  the  Bible, 
having  never  read  it,  or  understood  that  it  demanded  a 
change  of  heart ;  much  less  did  I  feel  that  I  was  a  sinner  in 
the  sight  of  God,  or  understand  that  I  could  not  enter 
heaven  unless  I  was  '  born  again '  by  the  renewing  of  the 
Holy  Spirit.  I  was  contented  in  my  ignorance,  as  Catholics 
generally  are,  with  outward  observances,  and  fully  believed, 
because  our  priests  told  us  so,  that  I  was  in  the  path  to 
heaven.  Had  not  my  heavenly  Father  had  compassion  on 
me,  I  should  have  lived  and  died  ignorant  of  the  only  way 
to  be  saved,  through  faith  in  my  precious  Saviour's  atoning 
blood. 

"  Where  I  lived,  after  leaving  my  father,  the  Bible  was 
daily  read  at  family  prayers,  which  I  sometimes  attended  ; 
but  what  I  heard  made  no  impression  on  my  mind,  as  1 
had  always  been  told  it  was  not  a  book  for  Catholics,  they 
being  sure  of  salvation,  and  they  only.  One  day  I  had  a 
quarrel  with  one  of  the  females  in  the  house,  and  was  high- 
ly provoked  with  her  for  telling  me  I  was  a  very  ivickea 
girl — a  term  which  had  never  been  applied  to  me  before. 
In  a  day  or  two  afterwards,  the  same  woman  was  reading 
her  Bible  ;  and  when  I  found  her  with  it,  she  was  shedding 
tears,  and  apparently  in  much  distress.  I  asked  her  what 
ailed  her,  and  never  shall  I  forget  her  answer.  It  was,  '  0 
Mary,  I  am  a  great  sinner,  and  I  fear  my  soul  will  be  lost 
for  ever.'  Although  I  had  been  highly  provoked  at  her  for 
calling  me  a  wicked  girl,  yet  when  she  confessed  that  she 
was  also  wicked,  it  astonished  me  beyond  measure.    I  knew 


THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER.  7 

her  to  be  more  amiable  than  I  was,  and  if  she  was  such  a 
sinner,  what  must  I  be,  I  asked  myself. 

"  I  could  not  rest  until  I  took  a  Bible  into  my  room  and 
examined  it :  this  I  continued  from  day  to  day.  finding  such 
passages  as,  ■  Ye  must  be  born  again,'  John  3:7;'  Christ 
Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners,'  1  Tim.  1  :  15; 
1  Except  ye  be  converted,  and  become  as  little  children,  ye 
shall  not  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven,'  Matt.  18  :  3  , 
'And  were  by  nature  the  children  of  wrath.,  even  as  others.' 
Eph.  2:3.  The  Bible  also  told  me,  that  unless  I  repented 
of  my  sins,  and  believed  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  I  could 
not  be  saved.  Having  never  done  this,  I  was  greatly  dis- 
tressed, and  went  home  to  my  father  and  told  him  I  was 
unhappy,  and  was  anxious  for  the  salvation  of  my  soul. 
But  although  he  was  esteemed  a  very  good  man,  and  a  rigid 
Catholic,  he  could  only  send  me  to  the  priest  to  confess,  for 
he  knew  nothing  of  the  new  birth,  or  of  the  gospel  way  ol 
salvation. 

"  The  priest  was  equally  ignorant ;  and  finding  I  had  no 
deadly  sins  to  confess,  he  made  light  of  my  distress,  and  told 
me  I  was  a  good  Catholic,  and  had  nothing  to  fear,  but  was 
sure  of  heaven.  Still,  I  was  oppressed  with  a  load  which 
only  grew  heavier  and  heavier,  and  as  he  saw  I  was  anxious 
for  relief,  he  at  last  told  me,  if  I  wished  it,  I  could  go  into 
the  convent,  and  become  a  holy  nun. 

"  Feeling  there  was  something  to  be  done,  I  asked  my 
parents'  consent,  that  I  might  enter  the  convent.  They 
gave  permission,  and  soon  after,  I  entered  upon  what  they 
called  the  life  of  a  noviciate,  intending  to  become  one  of  the 
holy  sisters ;  but  I  found  nothing  there  to  satisfy  the  desires 
of  my  soul — all  was  cold,  formal,  and  heartless.  Neither 
the  conversation  or  conduct  of  the  inmates  gave  me  any 
satisfaction,  and  I  soon  obtained  permission  to  leave  them 
and  return  to  my  former  place.  I  now  began  to  search  the 
Bible,  and  as  there  directed,  I  prayed  to  be  guided  aright, 


9  THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER. 

and  prayed  thus  for  a  long  time  ;  but  having  no  one  to  guide 
or  counsel  me,  I  became  much  discouraged  ;  when  one  day  I 
was  reading  the  16th  chapter  of  Acts,  and  came  to  where 
the  jailer  '  sprang  in,  and  came  trembling,  and  said  to  Paul 
and  Silas,  Sirs,  what  must  I  do  to  be  saved  ?  and  they 
said,  Believe  on  the  Loi'd  Jesus  Christ,  and  thou  shalt  be 
saved' 

"When  I  read  that,  and  saw  how  easy  it  was  to  obey 
this  command,  I  threw  myself  at  the  feet  of  my  blessed 
Saviour,  and  trust  I  gave  him  my  whole  heart.  Immedi- 
ately my  distress  was  gone,  and  I  was  filled  with  peace 
and  joy.  I  have  since  had  evidence  that  God  is  faithful  to 
all  his  promises.  My  confidence  is  firm,  my  hope  unfading — 
a  blessed  reality.  I  know  in  whom  I  have  believed.  I 
went  once,  and  but  once  more  to  the  Catholic  church,  to 
please  my  father.  It  was  at  the  consecration  of  the  bishop. 
But  now  the  idle  ceremonies,  the  pomp,  the  incense,  the 
bells,  all  were  disgusting  ;•  and  I  left  that  church,  never  more 
to  return  to  it. 

"  I  then  attended  the  meeting  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  S , 

and  some  time  after,  offered  myself  for  admission  to  his 
church,  together  with  my  sister  Betsey,  who,  like  me,  had 
become  pious.  We  told  our  father  of  the  change  of  our 
views,  which  he  was  already  aware  of;  but  when  we  in- 
formed him  that  we  were  about  renouncing  the  faith  in 
which  we  had  been  born,  he  could  not  suppress  his  feelings, 
but  ordered  us  to  go  to  the  priest,  and  inform  him  of  our 
apostasy,  and  give  him  an  opportunity  to  win  us  back. 
We  went  accordingly,  and  my  sister  not  being  so  timid  as  I 
was,  spoke  for  us  both.  He  tried  to  alarm  us,  by  assuring 
us  there  was  no  salvation  out  of  the  Roman  Catholic  church. 
Finding  our  purpose  unalterable,  he  began  to  threaten  us, 
not  with  punishment  here,  but  hereafter.  He  told  us  '  we 
should  be  damned,  if  we  were  apostates.'  We  assured  him 
that  we  relied  on  the  promises  of  God  to  all  who  truly  re- 


THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER.  9 

pentcd  of  their  sins,  and  were  satisfied  that  we  were  in  the 
right  path,  and  had  come  by  the  command  of  our  father,  to 
take  leave  of  him  and  of  the  church.  He  furiously  said,  '  If 
you  do  leave  the  true  church,  and  join  the  heretics,  I  would 
not  go  the  length  of  a  whiplash  to  save  you  from  damnation.' 

11  Shocked  and  grieved,  we  waited  to  hear  no  more  from 
him,  who  had  always,  until  that  interview,  treated  us  kind- 
ly. Our  father  was  still  bitterly  opposed  to  our  joining 
another  church,  and  went  so  far  as  to  threaten  us  when  he 
knew  we  were  to  be  baptized,  declaring  he  would  raise  a 
body  of  men  and  rescue  its,  as  he  called  it ;  but  his  employ- 
er and  others  told  him  he  would  get  himself  into  trouble, 
and  would  be  taken  up  for  breaking  the  law,  if  he  commit- 
ted any  such  act  of  violence. 

"  Finding  afterwards  that  we  were  still  his  affectionate 
daughters,  and  seeing  us  happy,  his  heart  relented,  so  that 
if  he  could  not  approve  of  what  we  had  done,  he  treated  us 
kindly ;  and  when  he  was  in  his  last  lingering  sickness,  all 
his  former  affection  for  us  returned,  and,  after  reading  the 
Bible  with  great  attention,  he  gave  our  mother  a  strict 
charge  never  to  molest  us  on  account  of  our  religion." 

Being  greatly  interested  in  this  statement,  and  wishing 
that  such  ardent  and  glowing  piety  should  be  witnessed  by 
some  other  individual  who  would  give  an  account,  of  it  to 
the  world,  I  took  with  me,  one  Sabbath-day,  a  young  clergy- 
man to  whom  I  had  given  many  of  the  foregoing  particu- 
lars ;  but  we  were  met  by  the  mother  of  Mary,  and  when  I 
introduced  my  friend  as  one  who  had  come  by  my  request 
to  see  her  daughter,  she  eagerly  asked,  "  Is  he  a  priest  ?"  I 
answered,  "  He  is  a  minister."  "  Then  he  shall  not  go  into 
her  room,  for  she  refuses  to  see  my  priest  when  I  wish  to 
have  him  come  and  anoint  her  with  holy  oil ;  and  if  she 
will  not  see  my  priest,  she  shall  see  no  other."  Finding  hei 
inflexible,  we  retired. 


10  THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER. 

As  no  clergyman  could  gain  access  to  her,  and  perceiv- 
ing an  anxiety  in  her  countenance,  1  one  day  asked  her  if 
she  wished  me  to  pray  with  her.  She  said,  "  0  yes,  I  have 
long  wished  it,  but  did  not  know  that  it  was  proper  to  ask 
the  favor."  Soon  after  this,  I  called  one  Saturday  evening, 
and  found  she  had  grown  so  feeble  that  she  had  scarcely 
been  able  to  sit  up  five  minutes  at  a  time  during  the  week. 
Her  mind  was  still  unclouded,  and  she  was  descending  into 
the  dark  valley,  leaning  upon  Him  who  has  authorized  all 
such  to  say,  "  When  my  father  and  my  mother  forsake  me, 
then  the  Lord  will  take  me  up."  Psalm  27  :  10.  I  asked 
her  if  I  should  pray  with  her.  She  desired  it,  and  I  com- 
mended her  to  the  Shepherd  of  Israel  ;  but  soon  the  door 
was  thrown  open  and  shut  again  with  great  violence — this 
was  again  and  again  repeated ;  and  when  I  rose,  I  saw  her 
mother  standing  by  the  door,  with  her  arms  extended,  her 
countenance  filled  with  rage,  her  eyes  almost  starting  from 
their  sockets,  her  fists  clenched  ;  and  looking  furiously  upon 
her  feeble,  dying  daughter,  she  cried  out  in  a  loud  voice, 
"Get  out  of  my  house — it  shall  hold  you  no  longer;  you 
are  no  daughter  of  mine,  for  you  have  abandoned  your  re- 
ligion, you  have  quitted  the  holy  church,  you  have  given  up 
your  God,  refused  to  see  the  priest,  and  my  house  shall 
shelter  you  no  longer.  You  wanted  to  be  a  nun,  did  you  ?" 
she  added,  pointing  at  her  with  derision.  "Now  your 
bones  will  lie  unburied,  for  they  can  never  get  into  the  holy 
ground." 

I  approached  this  furious  woman,  and  mildly  said  to 
her,  "  If  you  are  offended  with  any  one,  it  should  be  with 
me." 

"  No,  you  are  the  poor  widow's  friend,"  she  replied. 

I  then  asked  her,  "  Has  this  daughter  ever  been  undutiful 
to  you  ?" 

"  No,"  she  replied ;  "  except  about  her  religion  she 
always  obeyed  me  in  every  thing." 


THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER.  1] 

"  And  have  you,  then,  tried  to  get  her  back  to  your  re 
ligion  ?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  have  been  at  her  every  day, 
and  she  absolutely  refuses  even  to  see  my  priest." 

"  Is  it  for  this  that  you  threaten  to  turn  your  dutiful, 
affectionate  daughter  from  ,  your  doors  in  the  depth  of  win- 
ter?" 

"  Yes,"  she  violently  shouted  ;  "  she  is  an  apostate,  and 
I  disown  her." 

"  Is  it  for  following  the  dictates  of  her  conscience,  that 
you  treat  your  own  daughter  as  if  she  was  the  vilest  of  the 
vile ;  and  do  you  dare  have  it  said,  that  you  were  such  a 
monster  as  to  turn  her  from  your  doors  ?" 

She  replied,  "  Go  she  must — my  home  shall  hold  her 
no  longer.  And  never  will  your  soul,"  turning  to  her  daugh- 
ter, "  reach  purgatory,  if  you  despise  the  holy  Catholic  re- 
ligion." 

"  If  her  soul  will  never  reach  what  you  call  purgatory," 
I  replied,  "  it  will,  when  it  is  released  from  her  body,  go  to 
Abraham's  bosom  ;  and  if  you  ever  reach  heaven,  I  have  no 
doubt  but  you  will  see  Mary  an  angel  there." 

The  mother  then  left  the  room  in  great  agitation,  and  I 
followed  her,  and  asked  if  it  was  her  determination  to  turn 
her  daughter  out  of  doors.  She  assured  me  that  it  was.  I 
then  informed  her,  that  three  ladies  in  the  country  had  that 
very  day  sent  me  one  hundred  dollars,  with  which  to  take  a 
free  bed  at  the  hospital  for  the  indigent  and  virtuous  sick  in 
that  severe  winter.  I  added,  "  If  you  will  promise  me  that 
you  will  not  speak  harshly  again  to  her,  I  will,  early  in  the 
coming  week,  make  arrangements  to  get  Mary  to  the  hos- 
pital." She  solemnly  promised  to  do  so  no  more,  if  I  would 
engage  to  remove  her. 

I  went  back  to  the  chamber  where  the  sick  one  lay,  and 
finding  her  trembling  with  agitation,  I  asked  her  "if  she 
was  willing  to  go  to  the  hospital."     "  0  yes,"  was  her  reply, 


12  THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  do  let  me  go  there  ;  for  when  my  mother  gets  so  excited, 
it  agitates  me  so  that  I  can  get  no  sleep  all  night,  and  now 
I  am  so  weak  I  cannot  bear  it." 

Surprised,  I  asked  if  her  mother  had  ever  treated  her 
so  before.  "  Yes,  she  does  it  almost  every  day,"  was  her 
answer.  x 

"  Why,  then,"  I  asked,  "  have  you  never  informed  me  of 
it  before?"  "  She  is  my  mother"  was  the  reply.  And  it 
spoke  the  feelings  of  this  delicate,  faithful  disciple  most  elo- 
quently. Long  had  she  endured  the  rage  of  her  parent,  and 
thus  might  have  gone  down  to  her  grave  with  the  secret  in 
her  own  breast,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  occasion  which 
aroused  all  the  passions  of  her  poor  bigoted  parent.  Mary 
preferred  suffering  in  silence  to  exposing  her  mother's  vio- 
lence to  another.  "When  reviled,  she,  like  her  blessed  Mas- 
ter, answered  not  again. 

As  I  left  the  house,  the  elements  were  raging  without, 
and  a  furious  snow-storm  had  set  in,  which  continued  two 
or  three  days,  and  blocked  the  streets  so  much  that  it  was 
the  middle  of  the  week  before  the  removal  could  take  place. 
I  called  previously,  to  learn  if  the  mother  relented,  but  she 
continued  inflexible.  I  then  saw  the  medical  superintendent 
of  the  hospital,  but  he  objected  to  receiving  a  person  in  the 
last  stages  of  a  decline,  and  said  the  hospital  was  intended 
to  cure  persons,  and  not  as  a  resort  for  those  who  were 
dropping  into  the  grave  ;  but  on  my  stating  the  very  pecu- 
liar circumstances  attending  this  case,  and  that  the  young 
woman,  being  ordered  out  of  her  mother's  house,  must  go 
somewhere  to  die,  he  gave  way,  after  expressing  his  great 
surprise  that  such  an  event  should  have  occurred  in  this 
land,  and  that  any  mother  could  so  steel  her  heart  against 
her  amiable,  virtuous  daughter,  and  exhibit  all  this  violence 
only  on  account  of  her  religion.  In  consideration  of  such 
unnatural  conduct,  he  said  she  should  be  admitted,  although 
it  was  against  the  rules  of  the  institution  to  receive  those  to 


THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER.  13 

whom  they  could  not  hope  to  afford  permanent  relief.  It 
may  here  be  remarked,  that  this  hospital  is  a  mere  private 
establishment  for  the  relief  d^cA  cure  of  the  sick  and  wound- 
ed, and  not  a  general  hospital  for  all  who  are  diseased.  For 
these  latter  cases  a  public  institution  has  been  established, 
where  good  accommodation  is  provided  at  the  expense  of  the 
city  for  all  who  are  destitute. 

As  soon  as  the  storm  ceased  and  the  snow  was  levelled, 
arrangements  were  made  for  the  removal  of  Mary.  A  car- 
riage was  sent  by  Mrs.  P.,  with  whom  she  had  lived,  and  a 
pious  member  of  my  family  was  to  attend  her  and  her  sis- 
ter ;  but  at  the  time  preparations  were  making,  the  gentle- 
man in  whose  house  she  became  piousr  came  to  the  door, 
and  learning  that  the  feeble  girl  was  going  to  the  hospital, 
he  took  her  up  kindly,  wrapped  in  blankets,  and  placed  her 
in  the  carriage,  supporting  her  there  in  his  arms.  She  was 
with  difficulty  kept  from  fainting  by  the  way  ;  but  after  she 
had  reposed  a  day  or  two,  so  tranquil  was  every  thing  around 
her,  that  she  revived,  and  was  better  for  a  few  days. 

Her  mother  called  to  see  her  but  once,  and  then  left  a 
charge  with  Betsey  to  let  her  know  when  Mary  wras  dying ; 
but  to  this  Mary  objected,  as  the  impression  of  the  dreadful 
scenes  she  had  passed  through,  probably  had  made  her 
unwilling  to  be  agitated  by  her  mother's  violence  in  her  last 
moments. 

I  saw  her  occasionally,  and  her  minister  and  other 
Christian  friends  could  then  also  visit  her.  She  continued 
to  enjoy  sweet  peace.  One  morning  I  called,  and  perceiving 
that  her  life  was  drawing  to  a  close,  I  asked  her  if  she  was 
sensible  that  her  hours  were  almost  numbered,  and  if  she 
could  still  look  to  the  Saviour  with  confidence  and  hope. 
She  said,  "  I  lay  awake  many  hours  last  night,  and  had 
delightful  contemplations  on  the  character  and  condescension 
of  my  precious  Saviour." 

In  the  evening  I  called  again,  and  found  that  life  was 

E1«K-  Nar  30  VOL.   XT, 


14  THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER 

fast  ebbing.  She  desired  me  to  pray  with  her,  and  I  asked 
what  petition  she  wished  to  have  presented.  "  That  I  may 
glorify  God  in  dying,  and  not  be  left  to  complain  of  my  great 
bodily  sufferings,"  she  replied.  I  commended  her  to  the 
Saviour  whom  she  loved,  and  bade  her  farewell,  with  exalt- 
ed views  of  the  goodness  of  God  in  sustaining  this  young 
disciple  until  she  had  but  one  step  more  to  take  ere  she 
planted  her  feet  on  the  shores  of  the  heavenly  Canaan. 

The  next  morning  information  was  sent  me  from  the 
hospital,  that  she  was  released  from  all  pain.  I  called  on 
her  mother,  to  inform  her  of  the  event,  and  to  ask  her  where 
she  wished  to  have  her  body  placed,  and  when  she  would 
like  to  have  the  funeral.  She  said,  "You  told  Mary  you 
would  see  her  buried  with  your  family ;"  and  this  recalled 
to  my  mind  the  occurrences  of  the  evening  when  her  moth- 
er's violence  broke  out  in  my  presence.  I  had  then  told 
Mary  I  would  take  care  of  her  body  after  her  death,  and 
have  it  placed  by  the  side  of  my  children  in  the  beautiful 

cemetery  at ,  which  promise  was  sacredly  kept ;  and 

there  will  her  remains  repose  until  the  morning  of  the  res- 
urrection. 

On  reaching  the  hospital,  there  was  a  placid  smile  upon 
the  countenance  of  this  departed  child  of  God.  Her  sister 
informed  me,  that  soon  after  I  left  her,  Mary  fell  asleep,  and 
it  was  so  profound  when  her  pastor  called  in  the  evening, 
that  his  prayer  at  her  bedside  did  not  arouse,  nor  could  she 
awake  her. 

They  thought  it  the  sleep  of  death,  but  afterwards  she 
called  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Betsey,  I  am  going,  I  am  going; 
praise  the  Lord."  She  then  sung  in  her  clear,  sweet  voice; 
the  first  stanza  of  that  beautiful  hymn, 

Why  should  we  start,  and  fear  to  die  ? 

What  timorous  worms  we  mortals  are  ! 
Death  is  the  gate  of  endless  joy, 

And  yet  we  dread  to  enter  there. 


THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER.  15 

Her  voice  then  sunk  almost  to  a  whisper,  and  she  went 
through  the  entire  hymn,  closing  with 

Jesus  can  make  a  dying  bed 

Feel  soft  as  downy  pillows  are  ; 
While  on  his  breast  I  lean  my  head, 

And  breathe  my  life  out  sweetly  there. 

And  with  these  precious  words  on  her  lips,  her  spirit, 
released  from  its  frail  tenement,  took  its  upward  flight,  to 
see  and  adore  Him  whom  her  soul  loved,  and  who  had 
washed  her  in  his  own  precious  blood,  to  dwell  for  ever 
where  "  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are 
at  rest." 

One  occurrence  connected  with  her  mother's  ordering 
her  out  of  her  house,  should  not  be  omitted.  It  was  on  Sat- 
urday evening,  and  the  following  Monday  Mrs.  M.  dressed 
herself  as  she  usually  did  when  she  visited  her  priest,  and 
was  absent  some  hours.  When  she  returned,  she  fell  upon 
her  knees  by  Mary's  bedside,  and  said,  "  Now,  my  child,  I 
have  one  last  request  to  make  of  you,  and  do  not  deny  your 
mother's  wishes.  Only  consent  to  see  my  priest,  and  con- 
fess to  him,  and  you  shall  never  leave  my  house.  I  will 
work  to  support  you,  if  I  wear  my  fingers  off  in  doing  it ; 
and  in  the  spring,  I  will  take  you  to  your  dear  native  air  in 
Ireland,  and  that  will  restore  you,  and  then  we  shall  all  be 
happy." 

To  this  Mary  replied,  "  Mother,  why  do  you  make  such 
a  request?  the  thing  you  ask  is  impossible."  To  this  her 
mother  said,  "  No  one  but  you,  and  I,  and  the  priest,  shall 
know  any  thing  about  it."  Mary,  in  a  firm  tone,  said, 
"  Mother,  my  religion  is  dearer  to  me  than  life,  and  I  would 
not  give  up  my  peace  of  mind  for  worlds.  Mother,  never,  I 
beseech  you,  make  such  a  request  of  me  again."  "  Then 
you  shall  go  off  as  soon  as  you  can  be  got  out  of  my  house." 
This  mother  appeared  not  to  want  the  common  feelings  of 


]  6  THE  WEAVER'S  DAUGHTER. 

our  nature,  but  to  be  led  blindfold  by  a  superior  power  act- 
ing out  of  sight,  and  dictating  to  her  how  to  proceed  with 
\er  heretical  daughter,  so  as  to  bring  her  back,  if  possible, 
to  the  bosom  of  her  mother  church.  Very  similar  treatment 
of  Catholics  who  become  pious,  is  not  uncommon  in  our 
land,  as  we  have  ample  evidence  ;  and  we  ought  deeply  to 
sympathize  with  them  in  their  persecutions  for  conscience' 
sake. 

In  reflecting  on  the  natural  timidity  of  this  young  Chris- 
tian, and  her  unprotected  situation  under  the  roof  of  her 
mother;  who  had  such  strong  passions  and  was  so  very  big- 
oted, and  driven  on,  as  it  seemed,  by  her  priest,  it  then  and 
has  since  appeared  that  I  was  led  there  by  the  providence 
of  God,  to  protect  her  from  attempts  which  might,  and  prob- 
ably would  have  been  made  upon  her  when  she  was  too 
weak  to  resist  them ;  and  thus  it  might  have  been  given  out, 
that  Mary  M.  recanted  before  her  death  and  went  back  to 
her  former  faith,  and  died  in  the  communion  of  the  Uomish 
church.  Appearances  indicated  that  this  was  a  settled  plan, 
which,  if  it  was  formed,  was  frustrated,  and  she  was  ena- 
bled, with  her  dying  breath,  to  testify  to  the  love  and  grace 
of  Him  in  whom  her  soul  trusted  as  the  "  one  Mediator 
between  God  and  man." 


NARRATIVE  XXIII. 


THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE. 


In  a  miserable  hovel  near  Rottenstein,  in  Germany, 
resided  a  poor  cripple,  who,  from  earliest  infancy  to  his  sixty- 
second  year,  lived  in  such  a  state  of  bodily  weakness,  that 
he  was  constantly  dependent  on  the  humane  attention  of 
others.  His  whole  body  was  contracted,  his  knees  were 
drawn  up  near  his  chin,  and  he  was  consequently  unable 
to  walk:  the  utmost  he  could  do  was  to  crawl  a  few  yards 
on  the  floor ;  but  even  this  became  impracticable  in  the  latter 
years  of  his  life,  his  body  having  become  very  sore  from  con- 

39* 


THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE. 


st ant  lying  in  one  position.  His  arms  were  nearly  as  much 
deformed  as  his  lower  limbs,  though  for  many  years  he  retained 
the  free  use  of  his  hands/which  he  most  industriously  employed 
in  gaining  a  livelihood  ;  but  in  his  fifty-sixth  year,  a  very 
severe  winter  deprived  him  entirely  of  this  blessing,  so  that 
it  became  necessary  to  feed  him  like  an  infant.  The  cottage 
in  which  he  lodged  was  a  considerable  distance  from  tho 
village,  at  the  edge  of  a  forest,  amidst  some  sandy  rocks,  and 
removed  from  the  public  road.  Here  he  was  kindly  cared 
for  by  a  poor  shepherd's  widow,  whom  the  parish  had  placed 
in  the  same  dwelling. 

When  poor  James,  for  this  was  his  Christian  name,  lost 
the  use  of  his  hands,  the  pious  widow  had  advanced  to  her 
eighty-second  year.  Four  additional  years  James  enjoyed 
the  benefit  of  her  maternal  care,  when  it  pleased  God  to 
remove  her  from  this  world  of  sin  and  sorrow,  after  a  very 
short  illness.  Like  fruit  fully  matured  by  the  heat  of  afflic- 
tion, she  dropped  off  the  tree  ;  and  without  tasting  the  bit- 
terness of  death,  gently  fell  asleep  in  Jesus.  On  the  day 
which  immediately  preceded  her  dissolution,  she  had  gone 
to  the  village,  leaning  on  her  staff,  to  pay  a  last  visit  to  a 
pious  farmer's  widow,  from  whom  she  had  received  many  a 
charitable  gift.  Affectionately  thanking  her  benefactress  for 
all  her  acts  of  kindness,  she  added  an  earnest  request,  that 
she  would  think  of  poor  James,  as  she  now  felt  that  her  con- 
tinuance on  earth  was  likely  to  be  very  short.  t  On  the  even- 
ing of  the  following  day,  the  farmer's  widow,  impressed  with 
the  parting  words  of  old  "  Lizzy,"  sent  her  maid  to  inquire 
at  the  cottage  :  she  returned  with  the  intelligence  that  the 
aged  widow  had  died  early  in  the  morning. 

After  Lizzy's  burial,  poor  James  was  left  the  lonely  ten- 
ant of  the  cottage,  and  must  have  perished  in  his  forlorn  state, 
had  not  the  good  providence  of  God  raised  up  on  his  behalf 
some  kindly  disposed  persons,  who,  pitying  his  deplorable 
situation,  made  it  their  business  to  bestow  their  friendly 
attention  upon  him.     The  young  clergyman  of  Rottenstein. 


THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE.  3 

when  informed  of  his  circumstances,  began  to  visit  this 
afflicted  parishioner;  and  though  the  poor  man  spoke  but 
little,  what  he  said  was  so  appropriate,  that  every  visit 
increased  the  pastor's  esteem  and  affection. 

During  the  wet  weather,  the  rain  penetrated  the  roof, 
and  dripped  upon  the  bed  of  the  sufferer.  One  morning, 
some  friendly  visitors  stepping  in,  found  him  in  a  fainting 
fit.  Supposing  him  to  be  dead,  they  were  just  about  to  re 
move  him  from  his  bed  of  straw,  when  he  showed  signs  ol 
life,  though  his  state  of  exhaustion  was  such  that  he  could 
not  speak  so  as>  to  be  heard.  A  fire  was  then  kindled,  his 
bed  was  placed  in  a  more  sheltered  position,  a  dry  coverlid 
was  procured,  and  a  reviving  cordial  administered.  Thus 
refreshed,  James  soon  regained  his  cheerful  looks,  and  on 
recovering  his  speech,  expressed  a  wish  that  the  clergyman 
might  be  sent  for.  Upon  entering  the  sick-room,  he  found 
a  venerable  old  man  sitting  near  the  bedside  of  James,  with 
a  trembling  hand  and  a  tear  glistening  in  his  eye.  All  was 
clean  and  in  order.  Yet  these  outward  appearances  were 
not  the  chief  attraction  to  the  young  pastor ;  his  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  patient,  and  the  more  attentively  he  viewed 
him,  the  more  intense  was  the  interest  he  felt. 

Finding  the  poor  sufferer  somewhat  revived,  he  thus  ad- 
dressed him  : 

"My  dear  James,  you  appear  to  be  fully  aware  of  the 
danger  which  threatens  your  life,  but  for  that  you  seem  pre- 
pared." 

"  I  am  equally  ready  for  life  or  death,"  said  he,  with  an 
air  of  inexpressible  serenity ;  "  my  life  is  in  the  Lord's  hand  ; 
he  can  graciously  prolong  it,  or  speedily  take  me  to  himself, 
as  it  shall  please  him." 

"  But  how  is  this,"  inquired  the  clergyman  ;  "  do  you 
not  from  your  inmost  soul  long  for  the  redemption  of  your 
body?  Can  you  really  think,  without  uneasiness,  of  the 
prolongation  of  a  life  which  to  you  must  have  been  one  con- 
tinued scene  of  pain  and  suffering?" 


4  THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE. 

"It  is  true,  for  many  years  I  have  been  longing  for  the 
day  and  hour  in  which  the  shattered  tabernacle  of  this  body 
of  sin  and  death  shall  be  taken  down,  and  another  more  beau- 
tiful habitation  be  provided  for  my  immortal  spirit,  by  my 
blessed  Lord  and  Master ;  but  I  would  declare,  with  sincere 
gratitude  to  him,  that  my  life,  amidst  all  its  gloomy  and 
distressing  scenes,  has  yet  proved  a  comfortable  and  happy 
one." 

"  My  poor  friend,"  rejoined  the  minister,  "  it  cheers  me 
to  find  that  so  far  from  indulging  in  those  sad  complaints  to 
which  many  invalids  give  vent,  you  rather  dwell  on  the 
blessings  bestowed  upon  you  by  the  goodness  of  God.  Per- 
haps, in  your  youthful  days,  you  enjoyed  more  ease  and  com- 
fort, the  very  remembrance  of  which  may  prove  grateful  to 
your  reflecting  mind ;  but  as  for  your  later  years,  you  have 
had  to  endure  a  far  heavier  load  of  pain  and  suffering  than 
has  fallen  to  the  lot  of  any  one  within  the  circle  of  my  ac- 
quaintance." 

"With  regard  to  my  infancy  and  youth,"  replied  the 
cripple,  "  I  certainly  had  my  cheerful  days  and  hours,  but 
things  often  looked  very  dark.  My  father  was  a  soldier  ;  I 
never  saw  him,  for  at  the  time  of  my  birth  he  was  with  his 
regiment  in  a  remote  part  of  the  country,  and  shortly  after- 
wards he  was  drowned  in  the  Rhine.  My  poor  mother  died 
soon  after  my  birth  :  grief  for  the  death  of  my  father,  and 
the  sight  of  so  miserable  an  infant,  are  said  to  have  broken 
her  heart.  My  old  pious  grandmother  took  compassion  on 
me,-  and  nursed  me  with  the  same  tender  affection  as  if  I 
had  been  a  fine,  healthy  child,  though  my  deplorable  state 
often  drew  tears  from  her  eyes.  She  herself  was  but  badly 
off,  for  she  lived  with  a  daughter-in-law,  who  did  not  treat 
her  kindly ;  her  own  son  was  dead,  and  his  widow  had 
taken  another  husband,  who  grudged  the  old  woman  her 
free  lodging,  and  such  little  comforts  as  might  be  allotted 
her.  Often,  when  he  saw  my  aged  grandmother  carry  me 
about  before  the  cottage,  indulging  me  with  a  little  fresb 


THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE.  5 

air  and  warm  sunshine,  lie  would  pour  forth  a  volley  ot 
angry  words,  and  even  curses  upon  me,  so  that  I  quite  trem- 
bled. My  grandmother  bore  all  in  silent,  meek  submission, 
only  saying,  when  we  were  alone,  '  James,  you  must  pray 
for  angry  Michael,  that  God  may  bless  him  and  his  house ; 
then  every  one  of  his  curses  will  be  turned  into  a  tenfold 
blessing.'  My  grandmother  knew  how  to  combine  industry 
with  piety ;  busy  as  she  was  with  her  spinning-wheel,  and 
occupied  with  her  daily  work,  she  delighted  in  prayer,  speak- 
ing to  herself  '  in  psalms,  and  hymns,  and  spiritual  songs, 
making  melody  in  her  heart  to  the  Lord.'  She  also  taught 
me  to  read,  which  proved  a  most  welcome  recreation.  I 
made  rapid  progress  ;  and  when  she  employed  me  in  reading 
the  Bible,  I  felt  such  delight  in  it,  that  it  became  my  favor- 
ite pursuit.  At  the  same  time,  she  habituated  me  to  such 
work  as  my  feeble  hands  would  allow  me  to  perform.  Thus 
I  grew  up,  nourished  in  body  and  soul,  when  it  pleased  God, 
in  my  twelfth  year,  to  deprive  me  of  this  most  kind  and  in- 
defatigable nursing-mother.  When  she  felt  her  end  approach, 
she  prayed  with  a  holy  importunity,  that  God  himself  would 
take  me  into  his  especial  care  and  guardianship  ;  and  should 
it  please  him  to  allot  me  but  a  scanty  portion  of  earthly 
comforts,  that  he  would  enrich  me  with  an  ampler  supply 
of  spiritual  blessings.  This  prayer  was  remarkably  heard 
and  answered.  For  though,  when  I  saw  the  corpse  of  my 
venerable  grandmother  carried  to  the  grave,  I  shed  a  flood 
of  tears,  I  yet  enjoyed  an  inward  peace  and  consolation,  such 
as  I  had  before  never  experienced.  I  felt  as  if  the  Lord 
Jesus,  to  whose  mercy  my  dying  grandmother  had  so  fre- 
quently commended  me,  had  been  present  with  me,  and  had 
said,  - 1  have  made,  and  I  will  bear ;  even  I  will  carry,  and 
will  deliver  you.'  This  precious  promise  wonderfully  sup- 
ported me,  under  all  the  unkind  treatment  which  imbittered 
my  life  while  still  living  in  the  house  of  my  relatives.  None 
of  its  inmates  cared  for  me  ;  but  the  little  son  of  a  neigh- 
bor, whom  I  had  often  entertained  with  Scripture  narra- 
VOL.  xi. 


6  THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE. 

fives,  and  stories,  from  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress,  visited 
me  daily,  and  shared  his  bread  with  me.  Thus  this  pain- 
ful period  passed  over,  till  the  parish  provided  a  place  for 
me,  where  for  these  fifty  years  I  have  foifhd  shelter  and 
support." 

"  Ah,  my  poor  James,"  replied  the  clergyman,  "  I  pity 
you  ;  to  have  spent  fifty  tedious  years  in  such  a  desolate 
place  and  state:  were  you  not  often  constrained  to  exclaim, 
'OLord,  how  long?'" 

"After  all,"  said  James,  "I  cannot  complain  of  the  time 
having  ever  hung  heavily  upon  me  ;  never  was  I  left  quite 
lonely ;  one  companion  or  another  was  always  provided ; 
and  never  have  I  been  forsaken.  During  the  first  two  years, 
an  old  invalid  soldier  was  with  me,  who  had  had  both  legs 
shot  away  in  the  seven  years'  war.  He  was  an  honest, 
well-disposed  man,  often  joined  me  in  singing  a  spiritual 
hymn,  and  rendered  me  many  a  kind  service.  It  was  then 
that  I  found  Christ  to  be  precious  as  my  only  Saviour  and 
portion.  I  was  favored  with  continual  peace  and  joy.  My 
bodily  sufferings  also  were  greatly  alleviated,  so  that  my 
own  hands  could  procure  all  that  was  needful  for  the  sup- 
port of  life.  I  could  even,  now  and  then,  spare  a  trifle  for 
my  invalid  friend,  in  return  for  his  many  kind  services. 

"  After  his  death,  an  aged,  infirm  woman  occupied  his 
place,  to  whom  the  parish  committed  the  care  of  some  for- 
saken orphans.  These  little  ones  often  proved  a  source  of 
entertainment  and  comfort  to  me,  though  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, at  the  same  time,  that  they  often  gave  me  a  good 
deal  of  trouble  and  uneasiness ;  for  old  Margaret  frequently 
left  her  charge  for  hours  and  days  entirely  to  me,  and  deeply 
did  it  grieve  me  to  hear  them  cry  without  being  able  to  ren- 
der them  the  needful  assistance. 

"  About  twenty- two  years  ago,  the  parish  placed  with 
me  the  widow  of  the  late  shepherd,  the  aged  Elizabeth.  At 
first  she  manifested  rather  a  peevish  disposition,  but  after 
some  time  a  great  and  happy  change  took  place,  so  that  w+ 


THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE  7 

were  enabled  to  live  in  the  most  peaceful  mannei ,  and  in- 
deed she  rendered  me  so  many  and  such  kind  serv'ces,  that 
I  felt  constrained  to  pray  that  God  himself  would  be  '  her 
shield,  and  her  exceeding  great  reward.'  When  I  was 
deprived  of  her  friendly  aid  by  death,  some  other  Christian 
friends  favored  me  with  frequent  visits.  But  even  u  my 
solitary  hours,  I  was  not  forsaken ;  for  at  the  very  seasons 
in  which  no  human  being  came  near  me,  and  all  aroand 
seemed  buried  in  deathlike  silence,  I  felt  the  comfortalle 
presence  of  our  blessed  Lord  and  Saviour  so  sensibly,  that  I 
could  not  sufficiently  bl^s  and  praise  his  holy  name.  In- 
deed, I  must  acknowledge,  that  from  infancy  to  old  age,  he 
has  cared  for  me  with  greater  tenderness  and  affection  than 
an  earthly  parent  could  bestow  upon  a  beloved  child." 

"  But,"  said  the  minister,  "  the  ailment  of  your  body,  and 
its  many  infirmities,  must  have  occasioned  you  severe  pain, 
and  I  myself  have  sometimes  heard  you  sigh  and  groan 
under  your  load.  How,  then,  was  it  possible  for  you  to 
maintain  the  peace,  and  even  cheerfulness,  to  which  you 
have  just  referred  ?" 

"  Dear  sir,"  replied  the,  cripple,  "  even  in  my  earlier 
years,  but  especially  since  I  was  deprived  of  the  use  of  my 
hands,  I  have  constantly  had  recourse  to  two  remedies  which 
soothe  all  kinds  of  pain,  and  make  me  forget  all  sorrow. 
One  of  these  is  to  '  humble  myself  under  the  mighty  hand 
of  God ;'  the  other,  to  lift  up  my  soul  in  prayer  to  God. 
When  my  bodily  pains  began  to  assail  me  more  severely,  1 
called  to  remembrance  all  the  mercies  and  the  truth  which 
my  heavenly  Father  had  shown  me  from  my  birth  ;  how  by 
this  very  infirmity  of  my  body,  he  had  preserved  me  from 
many  sins,  into  which  persons  in  perfect  health  are  too  prone 
to  fall,  and  in  how  wonderful  a  manner  he  had  kept,  fed, 
clothed,  and  supported  me.  Above  all,  I  then  remembered 
how  mercifully  he  had  drawn  me  to  his  Son,  comforted  me 
by  his  Spirit,  cheered  me  with  numberless  enjoyments,  and 
refreshed  my  soul  with  a  sweet  foretaste  of  eternal  glory 


g  /  THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE. 

and  bliss/  When,  after  reviewing  all  his  numberless  mer- 
cies, I  thought  of  my  own  nothingness  and  vileness — when 
I  behelcf  on  the  one  hand,  a  poor  worm  of  the  dust,  and  on 
the  other,  the  Lord  of  heaven  and  earth  so  graciously  stoop- 
ing to/my  weakness,  and  loading  me  with  benefits,  I  was  so 
bowed  down  and  melted  under  a  sense  of  his  goodness,  as  no 
lonser  to  regard  my  bodily  pains,  which,  in  truth,  are  'not 
wo/thy  to  be  compared  with  the  glory  which  shall  be  re- 
lied '  hereafter  ;  I  felt  as  if  those  pains,  like  the  waves  of 

sea,  had  passed  by  without  being  able  to  harm  me.  At 
ither  times,  I  rose  in  spirit  to  Hitn  who  once  came  down 
from  heaven  into  the  miseries  of  this  wretched  world,  and 
calling  to  my  mind  his  sufferings  and  death,  his  resurrection 
and  ascension,  my  soul  rose  above  pain,  as  a  little  bird  might 
hover  above  the  ruins  of  a  falling  house.  In  such  hours  my 
sighs  were  turned  into  thanksgivings,  and  my  lamentation 
and  woe  into  a  song  of  praise.  Thus  I  may  well  say,  poor 
cripple  as  I  am,  that  by  the  good  hand  of  God  watching 
over  and  mercifully  providing  for  me,  I  have  yet  enjoyed 
"many  seasons  of  comfort  and  happiness.  Indeed,  there  was 
never  a  sunshiny  summer,  nor  a  fruitful  autumn,  which  did 
not  present  me  with  its  refreshing  fruits  ;  for  no  sooner  did 
ripe  cherries  or  pears,  apples  or  grapes,  come  on  in  their  suc- 
cessive seasons,  than  one  friendly  Christian  or  another  thought 
of  poor  James,  and  liberally  supplied  me  from  their  stores." 

The  young  clergyman,  while  listening  to  these  effusions 
of  poor  James,  was  deeply  affected.  Such  faith  he  had  not 
before  witnessed.  Unconsciously,  yet  most  opportunely,  his 
humble  parishioner  had  been  preaching  a  sermon  to  him  ; 
for  just  at  that  time  it  so  happened,  that  the  young  pastor, 
having  met  with  some  discouraging  circumstances,  was  in  % 
depressed  frame  of  mind.  The  evening  sun  shed  his  parting 
rays  on  the  pallid  countenance  of  the  sufferer,  brightened  by 
the  holy  joy  of  his  soul ;  and  the  minister  left  him  with 
such  a  sense  of  the  peace  of  God  as  he  had  never  before 
»njoyed. 


THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE.  (J 

After  this,  James  once  more  revived,  and  continued  for 
several  months,  living  a  life  of  inward  joy  amidst  bodily 
pain.  During  this  interval,  he  was  often  visited  by  his  pas- 
tor, who,  at  each  return,  himself  carried  away  more  conso- 
lation and  strength  than  he  was  enabled  to  impart.  With 
the  advance  of  the  autumnal  season,  the  poor  man's  last 
remaining  strength  began  visibly  to  decline.  Once  more 
the  clergyman  came  ;  the  sufferer  could  no  longer  distinctly 
speak,  but  his  looks  conveyed  a  powerful  expression  of  hu- 
mility, love,  and  gratitude.  With  a  nod  of  thankfulness, 
and  a  look  up  to  heaven,  he  took  leave  of  his  kind  friend, 
who  felt  as  if  a  near  and  dear  relative  were  being  taken 
from  him.  He  sent  a  young  man  to  pass  the  night  by  the 
bedside  of  the  dying  believer.  On  his  arrival  he  found  two 
pious  friends  with  him,  one  of  whom  was  reading  the  latter 
chapters  of  the  gospel  of  St.  John. 

James  fell  asleep  near  midnight,  and  for  several  hours 
slept  more  comfortably  than  he  had  done  for  some  time  be- 
fore. During  his  slumber,  his  face  became  paler  and  paler; 
yet  so  peaceful  was  it,  that  one  of  his  friends  could  not  but 
exclaim,  "Surely,  this  is  the  countenance  of  one  of  the 
blessed  above."  On  awaking,  he  uttered,  in  a  clear  tone, 
these  words :  "All  is  now  accomplished  ;  now  my  eyes  have 
seen,  my  heart  has  felt  the  things  which  I  have  so  long  be- 
lieved and  hoped  for."  With  a  cheerful  smile,  he  then  fixed 
his  look  upwards,  as  if  he  were  catching  a  view  of  the  glories 
of  heaven.  Then  turning  to  the  two  friends,  he  called  them 
by  name,  and  exhorted  them,  as  well  as  the  young  man,  to 
be  faithful  to  the  Lord  Jesus  in  word  and  deed,  to  abstain 
from  fleshly  lusts  which  war  against  the  soul,  and  to  keep 
themselves  unspotted  from  the  world.  After  pronouncing  a 
blessing  on  all,  he  requested  his  friends  to  read  to  him  the 
1 03d  Psalm,  which  they  began;  and  as  they  reached  the 
closing  words  of  the  fourth  verse,  "Who  crowneth  thee  with 
loving-kindness  and  tender  mercies,"  he  gently  fell  asleep  in 
Jesus.     The  bright  morning-star  was  shining  into  the  cham- 

Elejr.  Nar.  10 


10       .  THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE. 

ber  as  one  of  the  friends  closed  his  eyes,  exclaiming,  "  Surely, 
here  is 'one  who  has  '  kept  the  faith  ;'  let  us  pray  to  God  that 
he  may  grant  us  like  faith,  and  preserve  us  in  the  same  unto 
salvation."  The  three  then  united  in  prayer,  and  carried  on 
an  edifying  conversation  till  full  daybreak.  As  the  young 
man  reported  these  scenes  to  the  pastor,  he  added,  "  I  can- 
not tell  you,  sir,  how  I  feel  to-day — so  cheerful,  and  yet  so 
sad.  This  was  my  first  visit  to  poor  James,  and  yet  he  has 
left  me  a  blessing  such  as,  I  trust,  I  shall  have  reason  grate- 
fully to  remember  even  in  a  better  world." 

It  was  a  fine  autumnal  day  when  the  mortal  remains  of 
the  poor  cripple  were  carried  to  the  grave.  "  Ah,  my  poor 
James,"  said  the  clergyman,  while  preparing  for  the  funeral, 
"  who  will  accompany  you  to  the  grave  ;  who  will  shed  a 
tear  for  you  ?  It  was  not  in  your  power  to  purchase  the 
services  of  your  neighbors ;  you  could  give  no  meat  or  drink 
to  the  poor,  you  were  yourself  supported  by  the  parish  ;  you 
were  the  lowest  of  all,  and  have  not  a  single  relative  left  in 
the  village.  But,  though  no  one  else  should  shed  a  tear  for 
you,  I  will ;  for  I  know  what  you  have  been  to  me,  and 
how  much  I  owe  to  you."  But  how  astonished  was  he, 
on  meeting  the  corpse  at  the  church-door,  to  see  the  long 
procession  that  followed.  From  almost  every  house  in  the 
village  one  or  more  had  come  to  join  it,  whilst  others  were 
seen  standing  before  their  cottages,  the  men  with  uncovered 
heads,  and  in  silence  viewing  the  procession  as  it  passed. 
Still  more  affecting  to  the  pastor  was  the  deep,  heartfelt 
emotion  evidently  manifested  by  many.  Not  merely  tender- 
hearted women,  but  strong  and  rugged  men  shed  tears,  as 
if  a  beloved  father  or  benefactor  had  been  taken  from  them. 

The  clergyman  delivered  a  funeral  address  from  the 
beautiful  words  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  "  Be  thou  faithful 
unto  death,  and  I  will  give  thee  a  crown  of  life."  Rev.  2:10 
Never  before  had  he  preached  with  such  deep  feeling,  so 
that  the  whole  assembly  was  moved.  "When  he  had  directed 
the  minds  of  his  hearers  to  the  Christian's  bright  hope  of  a 


THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE.  1 1 

joyful  resurrection,  and  pronounced  the  blessing,  most  of  the 
people  left  the  churchyard  ;  but  the  clergyman  still  lingered 
there  with  some  of  the  friends  of  the  deceased.  Among 
them  he  noticed  a  venerable  old  man  whom  he  had  pre- 
viously met  by  his  bedside,  and  the  two  men  who  had  cheered 
his  last  hours  by  their  Christian  sympathy  and  support. 
Almost  all  of  them  were  to  outward  appearance  persons  in 
very  humble  life.  Several  did  not  belong  to  the  parish,  but 
had  come  from  some  remote  part  of  the  forest. 

"  There  is  no  kinsman  here,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  who 
can  offer  to  the  kind  friends  from  a  distance  any  refreshment. 
May  I,  therefore,  be  allowed  to  invite  them  to  the  parsonage, 
there  to  partake  of  my  homely  fare."  The  funeral  guests 
gladly  accepted  the  friendly  invitation,  and  placed  themselves 
around  his  hospitable  board.  Addressing  them,  he  said,  "  It 
really  affords  me  sincere  pleasure  to  have  this  day  wit- 
nessed the  many  tears  shed  for  our  departed  friend ;  and  yet, 
I  confess,  I  rather  wondered  to  see  one  so  much  honored  in 
death,  who  in  his  lifetime  was  almost  entirely  disabled  from 
rendering  any  service  to  his  fellow-men." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  one  of  the  men,  "  they  are  tears  ot 
affection  and  joy,  rather  than  of  sorrow,  which  we  shed  on 
account  of  dear  James.  How  could  we  do  otherwise  than 
rejoice  and  thank  God  that  his  body,  so  wofully  torn  by 
agonies  of  pain,  should  now  sweetly  rest  in  the  silent  grave, 
and  that  his  soul  is  now  a  happy  partaker  of  those  endless 
joys  purchased  by  the  Redeemer's  blood.  Yet  allow  me, 
reverend  sir,  to  say,  that  you  are  mistaken  in  supposing  that 
poor  James  had  never  been  able  to  render  any  service  to  his 
fellow-creatures.  I  can  say  for  myself,  that  when  I,  a  poor, 
helpless  child,  forsaken  by  my  own  mother,  was  provided  for 
by  the  parish,  the"  old  woman  to  whose  care  I  was  commit- 
ted, did  very  little  for  me,  but  James,  on  the  contrary,  did 
much.  Whatever,  at  that  time,  he  could  spare  from  his 
earnings  by  knitting  and  sewing,  he  cheerfully  gave  to  old 
Margaret  to  buy  me  milk  and  flour,  and  to  supply  me  witb 


12  THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE. 

linen  and  a  warm  bed.  Whilst  my  nurse  was  fast  asleep, 
deaf  to  my  cries  in  the  night,  he  had  my  crib  placed  near 
his  straw  bed,  and  willingly  suljmitted  to  much  inconven- 
ience on  my  behalf.  As  I  advanced  in  years,  he  taught  me 
to  read,  sent  me  to  school,  and  laid  out  his  last  florin  for  me. 
But  what  is  more,  he  taught  me  to  know  and  to  love  my 
Saviour,  and  now  I  have  the  blessed  hope  of  salvation, 
through  faith  in  the  merits  and  righteousness  of  my  dear 
Redeemer.  I  live  in  a  remote  part  of  the  forest,  about  nine 
miles  from  this  place,  and  possess  but  little,  having  to  sup- 
port a  sickly  wife  and  eight  children,  yet  considering  James 
as  my  greatest  benefactor,  I  used  occasionally  to  offer  him  a 
little  money,  or.  some  refreshments,  but  he  would  never  ac- 
cept them.  '  Let  me  alone,  dear  Frederick,'  he  often  said, 
'  I  am  used  to  my  oatmeal  diet ;  other  provisions  do  not  suit 
me.  As  for  your  money,  save  it  for  your  children ;  surely 
they  will  one  day  want  it ;  and  your  delicacies  take  to  poor 
Gertrude,  who  is  in  a  decline,  and  cannot  eat  black  bread.' 
1  frequently  offered  to  attend  him  by  day  or  by  night,  but 
his  usual  answer  was,  '  Frederick,  believe  me,  I  feel  easieT 
when  I  am  alone  ;  when  I  really  want  help,  I  shall  have  it.' 
Thus  he  declined  all  offers  of  service,  except  that  of  keeping 
his  room  clean  and  washing  his  linen,  and  that,  in  his  last 
illness,  he  allowed  me  for  a  few  nights  to  watch  by  his  bed- 
side." 

"  Just  so  did  he  act  by  me,"  exclaimed  a  well-dressed 
farmer's  wife,  belonging  to  a  neighboring  village.  "  It  would 
have  been  a  real  pleasure  to  me,  if  poor  James  had  accepted 
what  I  was  ready  to  present  to  him,  for  to  no  one  do  I  owe 
so  much  ;  but  all  my  entreaties  were  in  vain.  Once,  when 
taking  with  me  a  variety  of  little  comforts,  he  made  me 
weep,  because  he  refused  any  acknowledgment  of  all  the 
good  he  had  done  me.  'Do  not  make  yourself  uneasy,'  said 
he,  '  my  dear  Catherine,  but  listen  to  what  I  say.  Suppose 
you  were  about  to  present  your  pious  countess  with  some  nice 
fruit  from  your  own  garden,  in  grateful  acknowledgment  oi 


THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE.  13 

all  her  kindness  to  you,  and  one  of  her  servants  should  offer 
you  for  your  fine  pears,  a  fashionable  lace-cap;  you  would 
surely  reply,  I  neither  can  nor  will  sell  my  pears,  for  I  have 
gathered  them  on  purpose  for  my  honored  countess,  neither 
is  your  fine  head-dress  suitable  for  me.  Thus,  my  dear  Cath- 
erine, the  little  good  I  can  do  to  my  neighbor,  I  do,  I  trust, 
from  love  to  Christ ;  and  should  I,  a  poor  cripple,  utterly  in- 
capable of  making  the  smallest  return  to  my  blessed  Saviour 
for  his  numberless  blessings,  seek  a  recompense  here  below, 
by  accepting  what  is  really  of  as  little  use  to  me  as  the  lace- 
cap  would  be  to  you  ?  You  offer  me  a  bottle  of  wine,  I 
cannot  drink  it ;  your  husband  kindly  wishes  to  present  me 
with  a  silk  cap  which  he  brought  from  the  Tyrol,  I  cannot 
wear  it ;  and  your  money  I  do  not  need  :  no  poor  persons 
come  to  this  lonely  spot,  nor  can  I  seek  them  out ;  of  what 
use,  therefore,  would  an  Austrian  ducat  be  to  me  ?'  All  I 
could  prevail  upon  him  to  take,  was  a  little  fruit,  a  few 
spoonsful  of  honey,  and  some  linen  which  I  had  spun  and 
woven  myself;  and  yet  to  him,  under  God,  I  owe  whatever  of 
happiness  I  enjoy  in  the  present  world,  and  all  that  I  hope 
for  in  the  world  to  come.  At  only  four  years  of  age,  I  was 
brought  by  my  mother  to  this  village  on  her  way  to  Dantzic, 
where  my  father  was ;  but  in  consequence  of  a  severe  cold, 
she  fell  ill,  and  died,  leaving  me  a  helpless,  miserable  orphan. 
Being  committed  to  the  charge  of  the  shepherd's  widow,  I 
met — previously  to  the  blessed  change  wrought  on  her  by 
the  instrumentality  of  poor  James — with  very  hard  treat- 
ment. Oh,  how  different  was  James'  conduct  towards  me. 
He  was  all  kindness,  listened  to  my  childish  prattle,  talked 
to  me  as  one  child  does  to  another,  and  indeed  through  life 
he  always  appeared  to  me  to  have  the  simplicity  of  a  little 
child,  such  as  ourSaviour  requires  of  his  disciples.  He  soon 
gained  my  whole  confidence  ;  for  he  dressed  me  little  dolls, 
and  made  rne  a  present  of  a  small  bell,  with  which  he  him- 
self had  played  when  he  lived  with  his  grandmother.     Al- 

nost.  all  day  long  I  sat  on  a  little  stool  near  his  bedside,  and 

40* 


14  THE  GERMAN  CRrPPLE. 

after  1  had  entertained  myself  with  my  childish  play,  he 
used  to  tell  me  instructive  stories  from  the  Bible. 

"Every  morning  and  evening,  and  frequently  also  in  the 
middle  of  the  day,  he  prayed  with  us  ;  and  young  as  I  was, 
I  felt  that  no  words  could  have  been  more  suitable  to  our 
circumstances,  had  we  offered  our  prayers  ourselves.  He 
also  used  to  sing  some  spiritual  hymns  so  sweetly,  that  I 
think  I  never  heard  finer  singing.  Whilst  knitting,  he  read 
to  us  a  portion  of  Scripture,  or  employed  me  in  reading  it. 
Even  when  at  work,  his  thoughts  were  still  fixed  upon  God, 
and  out  of  the  fulness  of  a  devout  heart  his  mouth  spoke. 
When  I  look  back  on  the  years  spent  under  his  care,  I  feel 
as  if  I  had  spent  them  in  some  hallowed  spot  where  angels 
dwell." 

Of  the  aged  friend  whom  the  young  clergyman  had  met 
at  the  bedside  of  James,  he  kindly  inquired,  "  And  how  was 
it  that  you  became  so  intimately  acquainted  with  oui 
James  ?" 

"  Sir,"  he  replied,  "  if  the  friends  who  have  just  spoken 
occasioned  him  so  much  trouble  when  children,  I  have 
proved  much  more  troublesome  in  my  later  years.  I  am 
old  Lizzy's  younger  brother.  Whilst  abroad,  I  unhappily 
addicted  myself  to  drinking.  On  my  return  home,  I  not 
only  squandered  all  the  earnings  of  my  business,  but  also  all 
the  property  which  I  inherited.  When  intoxicated,  and 
refused  admission  into  my  lodging,  I  used  to  repair  to  the 
lodgings  of  my  sister,  and  there  I  raged  and  slept  away  my 
drunken  fit.  On  becoming  sober,  I  received  friendly  admo- 
nitions from  James,  and  severe  scoldings  from  my  sister  ;  but 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other  made  any  lasting  impression. 
When,  however,  my  sister,  softened  by  the  example  of  meek, 
patient  James,  began,  like  him,  to  reprove  me  in  a  gentle 
and  affectionate  spirit,  I  felt  ashamed  of  my  unhappy  pro- 
pensity ;  and  at  length  the  happy  hour  was  come,  in  which 
it  pleased  God,  in  infinite  mercy,  to  open  my  heart,  like  that 
of  Lydia,  so  that  I  could  gladly  attend  to  the  words  spoken 


THE  GERMAN  CRIPPLE.  15 

by  my  sister  and  by  James.  From  that  hour,  I  arose  and 
returned  to  my  heavenly  Father,  in  the  spirit  of  the  prodigal 
son ;  he  received  me  graciously,  and  loved  me  freely,  and 
has  granted  me  grace  steadily  to  persevere.  Thus,  sir,'* 
added  the  reclaimed  old  man,  "  not  we  only,  hut  all  who 
surround  your  table,  have,  in  one  way  or  another,  reason  to 
magnify  the  grace  of  God  dispensed  to  us  by  the  instrumen- 
tality of  our  dear  departed  friend." 

"Nor  will  I,"  subjoined  the  young  minister,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  "  be  less  willing  to  magnify  divine  grace.  To 
me  also  poor  James  has  proved  a  preacher  of  righteousness — 
of  that  righteousness  of  God  which  comes  by  faith  in  Christ ; 
and  under  the  constraining  influence  of  that  grace,  I  trust  I 
shall  be  enabled  to  lead  a  new  life  to  the  praise  and  glory 
of  his  holy  name.     Amen." 

And  now,  reader,  having  perused  the  above  narrative, 
do  you  not  behold  in  it  a  striking  exemplification  of  the 
blessed  influence  of  Christianity  ?  See  how  it  supported  a 
poor  cripple  amidst  all  his  poverty,  sickness,  and  pain.  Ob- 
serve his  meek  submission  and  peaceful  contentment,  with 
an  elevation  of  soul,  and  joyfulness  of  hope,  which  cannot 
but  call  forth  your  warm  admiration  and  praise.  Ought 
you  not  to  feel  stimulated  thereby  to  exclaim  with  the 
apostle,  "  I  am  not  ashamed  of  the  gospel  of  Christ ;  for  it 
is  the  power  of  God  unto  salvation  to  every  one  that  believ- 
eth."  Rom.  1  :  16.  Should  you  not  declare,  with  another 
apostle,  "  Of  a  truth  I  perceive  that  God  is  no  respecter  ol 
persons."  Acts  10  :  34.  "The  Lord  maketh  poor,  and  mak- 
eth  rich ;  he  bringeth  low,  and  lifteth  up.  He  raiseth  up 
the  poor  out  of  the  dust,  and  lifteth  up  the  beggar  from  the 
dunghill,  to  set  them  among  princes,  and  to  make  them 
inherit  the  throne  of  glory."    1  Sam.  2  :  7,  8. 

And  is  not  this  narrative  of  poor  James  an  eminent  illus- 
tration of  the  truth,  that  even  the  poorest  of  the  poor,  when 
favored  with  the  riches  of  God's  free  grace  in  Christ  Jesus, 


IQ  THE  GERMAN  CRIPFLE. 

may  become  "  a  sweet  savor  of  Christ,"  and  both  in  word 
and  deed  be  "  a  burning  and  shining  light,"  not  merely 
within  the  narrow  circle  of  their  own  immediate  sphere  of 
action,  but  far  beyond  it,  even  to  remote  and  foreign  lands, 
and  to  generations  yet  to  come.  Let,  therefore,  none  say,  in 
a  strain  of  desponding  fear  and  diffidence,  As  for  me,  I  am 
so  poor  and  insignificant,  that  no  feeble  attempt  of  mine  can 
be  expected  to  succeed ;  really,  I  cannot  do  any  good  at  all. 
Cheer  up,  poor  fellow-Christian,  encourage  yourself  in  the 
God  of  your  salvation ;  weak  and  insignificant  as  you  are 
in  yourself,  come  boldly  to  Jesus.  Receive  out  of  his  inex- 
haustible fulness  "grace  for  grace;"  and  remember  whal 
your  blessed  Saviour  says  :  "  If  any  man  thirst,  let  him  come 
unto  me,  and  drink.  He  that  believeth  on  me,  as  the  Scrip- 
ture hath  said,  out  of  his  belly  shall  flow  rivers  of  living 
water."    John  7  :  37,  38. 

And  thou,  my  suffering  fellow-Christian,  amidst  all  thy 
bodily  or  mental  affliction,  call  to  thy  recollection  the  thou- 
sands and  tens  of  thousands  that  have  suffered,  and  do  suffer, 
even  far  more  severely  than  ever  thou  hast,  and  like  poor 
James,  draw  comfort  from  a  view  of  thy  suffering  Redeemer, 
"who,  for  the  joy  that  was  set  before  him,  endured  the 
cross,  despising  the  shame,  and  is  set  down  at  the  right  hand 
of  the  throne  of  God."  Heb.  12:2.  Meekly  submit,  and 
patiently  endure  ;  be  thou  faithful  unto  death,  and  he  will 
give  thee  a  crown  of  life.     Rev.  2  :  10. 


NARRATIVE  XXIV 


MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 


Thy  word  is  a  lamp  unto  my  feet,  and  a  light  unto  my  path. — Psalm  119  :  103. 


CHAPTER   I. 

Some  years  ago  I  left  London  with  my  family  for  the 
purpose  of  trying  the  mild  climate  of  Italy ;  but  the  disturbed 
state  of  the  country  at  that  time  led  us  to  make  arrange- 
ments for  passing  the  winter  in  the  south  of  France.  We 
crossed  in  the  packet  from  Dover  to  Calais,  where  we  spent 
a  few  days  in  procuring  information  as  to  the  best  mode  of 
travelling ;  and  then  proceeded  to  Paris,  which  we  quitted 
at  the  end  of  three  weeks,  journeying  by  post  to  the  south, 
through  Orleans,  Chateauroux,  Limoges,  Montauban,  and 
other  towns  or  villages  of  less  note,  not  knowing  exactly 
where  we  should  winter.     At  length,  early  in  October,  we 


2  MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 

reached  Toulouse,  a  large  city,  containing  about  50,000 
people,  and  situated  in  a  delightful  plain,  in  the  ancient  prov- 
ince of  Languedoc.  only  forty  or  fifty  miles  distant  from  the 
Pyrenees,  a  chain  of  lofty  mountains  which  divide  France 
from  Spain.  On  the  banks  of  the  Garonne,  which  takes  its 
rise  in  those  mountains,  stands  Toulouse,  almost  surrounded 
by  that  river  and  the  royal  canal  of  the  south,  which  opens 
a  communication  from  Bordeaux  to  Cette,  joining  the  Atlan- 
tic ocean  to  the  Mediterranean  sea.  Toulouse  lays  claim 
to  very  high  antiquity,  being  supposed  to  have  existed  615 
years  before  the  Christian  era.  It  was  made  a  Roman  col- 
ony by  Julius  Caesar,  and  some  Roman  antiquities  may  still 
be  seen  within  and  near  the  city.  Christianity  was  first 
planted  there  about  a.  d.  245,  by  one  Saturninus,  who  suffered 
martyrdom  by  being  tied  to  an  ox,  and  dragged  until  life 
was  extinct.  The  name  of  a  street  commemorates  this 
cruelty,  and  a  church  is  still  dedicated  to  the  martyr,  who, 
under  the  title  of  St.  Sernin,  is  regarded  as  its  patron  of 
protector. 

The  lateness  of  the  season,  and  other  circumstances, 
induced  us  to  fix  on  Toulouse  as  our  winter  residence.  "We 
therefore  lost  no  time  in  seeking  for  a  habitation ;  and  a 
cottage  near  the  city  being  recommended,  we  went  immedi- 
ately to  see  it.  It  was  about  half  a  mile  distant  from  town, 
and  belonged  to  an  abbe,  who  was  then  from  home,  but  a 
message  brought  him  back  speedily.  The  cottage  we  went 
to  look  at  stood  on  a  height,  giving  a  delightful  view  of  the 
city  and  surrounding  country,  and  was  called  Pavilion,  from 
two  turrets,  which  surmounted  its  wings.  It  contained  six 
rooms  and  a  kitchen,  all  neatly  furnished,  and  at  a  moderate 
rent.  In  front  was  a  small  garden,  with  fruit-trees  and 
flower-plants ;  in  its  centre  there  was  a  fountain,  and  at  the 
angles  of  the  walks  were  placed  statues  representing  the  four 
seasons.  Behind  the  cottage  was  a  vineyard  of  about  half 
an  acre.     The  grapes  had  just  been  gathered,  and  lodged  in 


MARY  OF  TOULOUSE.  3 

the  wine-press,  for  the  abbe's  next  year's  store  of  wine. 
Within  the  vineyard,  and  round  about  it,  the  British  troops 
were  engaged  with  the  French  in  1814,  before  the  surrender 
of  Toulouse  to  the  army  under  the  duke  of  "Wellington. 
Close  to  the  edge  of  the  garden  was  a  road  leading  to  Mon- 
tauban ;  and  beyond  the  highway  a  plain  of  some  extent, 
subdivided  into  fields  intersected  by  trenches,  which  serve 
instead  of  hedges  as  boundaries  of  the  land.  This  plain  is 
terminated  by  lofty  hills. 

To  the  right  of  the  cottage  was  seen,  lying  in  a  hollow, 
the  city,  skirted  by  the  royal  canal,  which  was  enlivened  by 
moving  barges  and  trees  lining  the  banks.  Here  the  bustle 
of  traffic  was  observable,  the  noise  of  the  boatmen,  and  the 
laborious  industry  of  the  women,  many  of  whom  were 
busied  in  lading  and  unlading  barges,  while  others  were  im- 
mersed knee-deep  in  the  canal  washing  linen,  and  others 
again  were  in  the  fields,  handling  the  hoe,  or  else  guiding 
the  oxen  in  carts  or  ploughs. 

To  the  left,  the  Pyrenean  mountains  raised  their  lofty 
peaks  to  the  clouds,  and  added  much  to  the  beauty  and  inter- 
est of  the  surrounding  scene. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  terms  of  hire  being  soon  arranged  with  the  abbe, 
with  whom  it  was  easy  to  treat — for  he  was  a  very  courteous 
and  accommodating  man — we  entered  our  cottage  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  and  when  a  little  settled,  paid  our  respects  to 
our  amiable  host,  .who  was  our  next-door  neighbor.  He 
received  us  with  much  kindness.  His  appearance  was  ven- 
erable, his  age  being  about  seventy  years.  He  was  in  his 
ordinary  dress,  which  was  a  long  close  garment  of  black 
stuff,  buttoned  from  top  to  bottom.  When  he  went  abroad, 
he  put  on  a  three-cornered  hat,  and,  in  cold  weather,  a  pur- 
ple silk  surtout,  lined  with  wadding ;  but  in  all  seasons  he 


4  .  MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 

carried  his  crook-headed  cane,  which  had  supported  him  for 
several  years  in  his  daily  walks  to  and  from  the  cathedral, 
where  he  went  every  morning  to  assist  at  early  mass.  Be- 
sides his  service  at  the  cathedral,  he  commonly  officiated  on 
Sundays  at  some  village  a  short  distance  from  home,  or  else 
supplied  the  place  of  a  sick  or  absent  cure  of  some  neighbor- 
ing church,  whither  he  was  conveyed  in  a  covered  cart, 
drawn  by  oxen ;  or,  if  the  church  lay  in  the  direction  of  the 
canal,  he  proceeded  by  one  of  the  barges  which  ply  regularly 
to  and  fro.  His  own  dwelling  consisted  of  a  parlor,  two 
bedchambers,  and  a  kitchen,  all  on  a  small  scale,  and  fur- 
nished in  a  simple  manner.  A  framed  inscription,  which 
hung  over  the  chimney-piece,  attracted  my  attention  on  my 
first  visit,  and  made  me  wish  for  an  opportunity  to  take  a 
copy  of  it.  At  the  top  of  it  was  a  rude  sketch  of  the  virgin 
Mary,  and  the  infant  Saviour  in  her  arms  ;  and  underneath, 
partly  in  Latin  and  partly  in  French,  was  written  the 
following 

PRAYER  TO  THE  HOLY  VIRGIN. 

"  We  flee  unto  thee  for  protection,  0  holy  mother, 
Despise  not  our  supplications  in  our  necessities,  but  deliver 
us  at  all  times  from  danger,  0  glorious  and  blessed  virgin. 
Amen. 

"  Honor  and  glory  be  to  the  daughter  of  the  Most  High  ! 

"On  the  10th  of  April,  1814,  the  memorable  day  of 
the  battle  of  Toulouse,  the  cannon-balls  respected  the  image 
of  the  most  holy  virgin,  which  was  in  the  house  of  Mon- 
sieur T ,  priest  and  prebendary  of  the  cathedral  of  Tou- 
louse." 

What  was  meant  by  respecting  tJie  image  was,  that 
during  the  action,  a  cannon-ball  passed  through  the  apart- 
ment where  the  image  then  stood,  without  touching  it. 

The  abbe's  household  comprised  himself,  his  vine-dresser, 
and  a  female  servant,  who  waited  on  her  master,  nursed  him 


MARY  OF  TOULOUSE.  5 

in  sickness,  marketed,  washed,  cooked,  cleaned  the  house, 
and  worked  in  the  garden ;  in  short,  she  managed  all  his 
domestic  concerns.  The  name  of  this  valuable  servant  was 
Mary.  She  was  the  daughter  of  the  vine-dresser,  and  one  of 
four  living  sisters,  all  called  Mary,  though  one  had  the  addi- 
tional name  of  Magdalene.  She  was  nearly  fifty  years  of 
age,  of  a  lively  disposition,  shrewd  understanding,  contented 
mind,  and  always  respectful  to  her  superiors.  Whether  at 
work  in  the  house  or  in  the  garden,  Mary  was  accustomed  to 
enliven  the  neighborhood  with  her  cheerful  song.  She  ap- 
peared to  be  one  of  the  happiest  of  human  beings :  I  say 
appeared,  for  her  contentedness  had  no  solid  foundation, 
because  all  her  delight  and  wishes  were  centred  in  the 
world,  and  in  the  things  of  time  and  sense.  Her  mind  seem- 
ed to  be  at  ease,  but  it  was  only  a  false  peace — a  dangerous 
slumber  ;  and  awful  indeed  would  her  condition  have  been, 
had  death  and  judgment  surprised  her  in  that  state  of  igno- 
rance of  the  only  way  of  escape  from  the  wrath  to  come.  If 
ever  she  looked  beyond  the  grave  to  a  future  state  of  exist- 
ence, she  considered  her  lot  to  be  secured  among  the  blessed 
by  the  absolution  of  the  priest,  and  the  performance  of  cer- 
tain customary  ceremonies ;  or  at  least  imagined,  if  she 
should  be  forced  to  undergo  some  punishment  in  purgatory 
for  her  purification,  that  the  period  might  be  shortened  by 
the  money  of  her  friends,  or  the  prayers  of  the  church,  and 
that  she  would,  sooner  or  later,  be  set  at  liberty,  and  admitted 
into  paradise.  At  this  time  she  knew  nothing  of  the  wick- 
edness and  deceitfulness  of  her  own  heart — nothing  of  the 
devices  of  the  great  destroyer  of  souls — nothing  of  the  poison- 
ous nature  of  sin-,  or  how  it  had  brought  death  and  every 
evil  into  the  world.  She,  in  short,  was  unacquainted  with 
God's  word ;  and  being  ignorant  of  the  Saviour  of  sinners, 
was  far  from  him,  and  consequently  far  from  enjoying  true 
happiness,  and  that  peace  which  passes  all  understanding. 
In  this  dangerous  state  she  had  toiled  many  years  in  the 

Eleg.  Nar.  41  VOL.  XII. 


Q  MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 

service  of  her  master,  who  passed  in  the  neighborhood  for  a 
guide  and  instructor  in  the  way  of  salvation.  Labor  through 
the  week,  and  diversions  on  the  Sabbath-day,  intermixed 
with  stated  attendances  at  church  on  Sundays  and  holidays, 
and  a  round  of  confessions  and  absolutions,  communions  and 
sins,  were  the  sum  of  her  life,  and  the  substance  of  her 
religion.  On  Sunday  morning  she  never  failed,  after  the 
hour  of  market,  to  go  to  mass.  This  done,  she  believed  she 
had  observed  the  Sabbath,  and  saw  no  harm  in  dividing  the 
remainder  of  the  day  between  ordinary  work,  idle  conversa- 
tion, and  frivolous  amusements.  The  evening  of  the  Lord's 
day  was  constantly  closed  by  a  public  dance,  in  which  Mary 
was  very  conspicuous,  both  from  the  sprightliness  of  her 
manner,  and  the  gayety  of  her  attire. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

The  first  opportunity  I  had  of  speaking  seriously  to  Mary 
was  on  a  Sabbath-day,  about  a  month  after  my  arrival. 
Something  having  been  said  about  her  master's  privation  of 
domestic  comfort,  for  the  want  of  a  good  wife,  she  expressed 
surprise  that  Protestant  ministers  should  be  allowed  to  marry, 
when  Roman  Catholic  ones  were  forbidden  to  do  so.  I  told 
her,  if  man  prevented  their  marriage,  God  did  not,  and  after- 
wards read  to  her  out  of  the  Roman  Catholic  New  Testa- 
ment the  passage  which  requires  both  bishops  and  deacons 
to  have  but  one  wife,  to  rule  their  own  houses  well,  and  to 
have  their  children  in  subjection.  1  Tim.  3  : 2-4,  8-11. 
Some  days  after  this  the  abbe  called  on  me,  and  this  subject, 
among  others,  became  the  topic  of  conversation.  He  then 
candidly  owned,  that  the  rule  of  his  church  forbidding  priests 
to  marry,  is  opposed  to  holy  Scripture ;  and  declared  that 
many  ecclesiastics  were  formerly  married,  and  that  some, 
being  threatened  with  imprisonment  if  they  refused,  took 
wives  during  the  revolution  in  France.     One  of  these  mar- 


MARY  OP  TOULOUSE.  7 

ried  priests,  he  said,  was  then  living  in  Toulouse.  The  abbe 
allowed  that  St.  Peter  was  a  married  man,  Matt.  8  :  14,  15 ; 
1  Cor.  9:5;  and  the  Scripture  before  quoted,  1  Tim.  3, 
having  been  again  adverted  to,  I  read  to  him  the  whole 
passage,  which  he  thought  decisive  of  the  question.  He 
expressed  regret  that  any  ecclesiastical  law  should  exist 
against  the  marriage  of  the  clergy,  though  he  thought  celib- 
acy meritorious.  This  gave  me  occasion  to  remark,  that  no 
man  can  have  merit  with  God,  all  being  sinners  in  his  sight. 
Rom.  3  :23. 

At  a  subsequent  meeting,  I  read  to  him  1  Tim.  4  :  1-5  ; 
but  he  made  no  reply,  except  that  the  keeping  of  Lent — as 
a  fast,  or  abstinence  from  animal  food — is  not  a  divine  in- 
stitution. 

Finding  from  the  above-mentioned  conversation  with 
Mary,  that  she  was  unable  to  read — though  I  was  pleased  to 
hear  she  was  then  learning  her  letters — I  proposed  to  read 
to  her  a  little  out  of  the  New  Testament.  She  having  as- 
sented, I  opened  at  the  third  chapter  of  St.  John's  Revelation, 
and  read  from  the  eighteenth  to  the  twenty-second  verse, 
making  a  few  observations.  I  also  read  the  parable  of  the 
Pharisee  and  publican,  recorded  in  St.  Luke's  gospel,  18  : 
10-14.  She  now  expressed  much  regret  that  she  had  not 
learned  to  read  at  an  earlier  age. 

The  next  day  my  wife  seeing  her  with  her  prayer-book, 
desired  her  to  show  it  to  me.  I  found  the  prayers  were  in 
Latin  and  French ;  and  my  eye  was  soon  arrested  by  one 
for  the  dead  ;  upon  which  I  observed  to  Mary,  that  prayers 
are  wholly  unavailing  for  departed  souls,  because  they  are 
then  fixed  in  a  state  of  happiness  or  misery  for  ever.  Sho 
seemed  surprised  at  this,  but  soon  afterwards  observed, 
"  Then  the  masses  said  for  the  dead  must  be  for  the  purpose 
of  raising  money  for  the  church."  These  sums  she  rightly 
supposed  woulci  be  better  bestowed  on  the  poor  in  the  life-' 
time  of  the  giver.     I  afterwards  learned  that  her  master 


3  MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 

had  left  in  his  will  four  hundred  francs  for  as  many  masses 
for  his  own  soul.  In  order  to  prove  to  her  that  this  was  a 
fraud  upon  the  credulous  and  ignorant,  I  read  to  her  the 
evangelist's  relation  of  the  two  malefactors  who  were  crucified 
with  our  blessed  Saviour,  Luke  23  :  39-43,  and  dwelt  on  our 
Lord's  promise  to  the  penitent  and  believing  thief:  "  Yerily 
I  say  unto  thee,  To-day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in  paradise." 

In  the  course  of  this  conversation,  I  informed  her  that 
one  of  the  chief  distinctions  between  Romanists  and  Protes- 
tants was,  that  the  former  shut  up  the  word  of  God  from  the 
people,  and  the  latter  offered  it  freely  to  all  the  world,  accord- 
ing to  the  spirit  of  Christ's  command  to  his  disciples,  which 
I  then  read  to  her  from  Mark  1G  :  15,  16  :  "  Go  ye  into  all 
the  world,  and  preach  the  Gospel  to  every  creature."  This 
declaration  was  followed  by  a  statement  of  the  number  oi 
copies  of  the  sacred  volume  distributed  by  the  British  and 
Foreign  Bible  Society  during  a  period  of  sixteen  years, 
amounting  to  upwards  of  two  millions,  in  different  languages, 
and  among  various  nations.  She  replied,  "  TJiat  is  certainly 
a  good  work — to  enlighten  the  ignorant ;  for  how  can  I 
know  any  thing  except  I  am  taught?" — a  remark  which 
brought  forcibly  to  my  mind  the  words  of  the  apostle  :  "  How 
then  shall  they  call  on  him  in  whom  they  have  not  believ- 
ed ?  and  how  shall  they  believe  in  him  of  whom  they  have 
not  heard?"     Rom.  10  :  14. 

Before  the  close  of  this  conversation,  I  adverted  to  the 
prayers  appointed  to  be  offered  to  the  blessed  Mary  and  other 
glorified  saints,  by  acquainting  her,  that  as  they  were  only 
created  beings,  they  ought  not  to  be  worshipped,  and  that 
the  apostle  Paul  declares  there  is  "  one  Mediator  between 
God  and  men,  the  man  Christ  Jesus,"  1  Tim.  2:5;  and  with 
a  view  to  convince  her  that  worship  is  due  to  God  alone,  I 
read  a  few  verses  from  Matthew's  gospel,  4  :  1-10,  pressing 
upon  her  the  last  clause  of  the  tenth  verse  :  "  Thou  shalt 
worship  the  Lord  thy  God,  and  him  only  shalt  thou  serve." 


MARY  OF  TOULOUSE.  9 

I  also  desired  her  to  mark  our  Saviour's  repeated  appeal 
to  the  Jwly  Scriptures  as  the  source  of  all  truth  and  the 
corrective  of  all  error ;  for  when  Jesus  thrice  said,  "It  is 
written,"  he  surely  must  be  understood  to  mean,  that  the 
sacred  Scriptures  were  given  for  the  express  purpose  of  being 
read,  that  being  the  end  of  all  writings.  And  that  such  was 
his  meaning,  is  clear  from  many  other  passages  of  the  holy 
volume.  But  some  imagine  that  the  word  of  God  was 
never  designed  to  be  read  indiscriminately  by  all  the  people. 
Let,  however,  two  inspired  apostles  answer  these  objections. 
Peter,  writing  to  the  faithful,  and  speaking  of  the  voice  from 
heaven,  which  declared  of  Christ,  "  This  is  my  beloved  Son," 
immediately  adds,  "We  have  also  a  more  sure  word  of 
prophecy,  whereunto  ye  do  well  that  ye  take  heed,  as  unto 
a  light  that  shineth  in  a  dark  place,  until  the  day  dawn,  and 
the  day-star  arise  in  your  hearts."  And  again  he  says, 
"  This  second  epistle,  beloved,  I  now  write  unto  you ;  in 
both  which  I  stir  up  your  pure  minds  by  way  of  remem- 
brance :  that  ye  may  be  mindful  of  the  words  which  were 
spoken  before  by  the  holy  prophets,  and  of  the  command- 
ment of  us  the  apostles  of  the  Lord  and  Saviour."  2  Peter, 
1:19;  3  :  1,  2.  Observe,  that  Peter  is  not  writing  to  the 
teachers  of  the  people,  but  to  the  flock,  when  he  affirms  that 
the  inspired  volume  was  intended  to  enlighten  their  minds 
and  refresh  their  memories  concerning  those  truths  which 
belong  to  their  everlasting  peace :  and  if  the  word  of  God 
was  used  as  a  light  and  a  remembrancer  by  the  church  in 
the  time  of  the  apostles,  how  much  more  is  it  needed  in  our 
day  to  enlighten  us,  and  remind  us  continually  of  those 
things  we  may  have  already  heard  and  known  ?  2  Peter, 
1  :  12,  13,  15.  Attend  now  to  the  other  witness.  Paul,  in 
his  epistle  to  the  church  at  Home,  states,  that  "  whatsoever 
things  were  written  aforetime,  were  written  for  our  learning, 
that  we  through  patience  and  comfort  of  the  Scriptures  might 

have  hope."     Rom.  15:4.     The  same  apostle  on  another 

41* 


10  MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 

occasion  declares,  that  "  All  Scripture  is  given  by  inspiration 
of  God,  and  is  profitable  for  doctrine,  for  reproof,  for  correc- 
tion, for  instruction  in  righteousness  ;"  and  it  is  particularly 
worthy  of  attention,  that  he  not  only  commended  Timothy 
for  knowing  the  holy  Scriptures  from  his  childhood,  but  like- 
wise honored  the  Bereans  for  searching  the  Scriptures  daily. 
See  2  Tim.  3:16;  Acts  17:11.  Whatever  errors  and 
heresies  have  crept  into  the  church  of  Christ,  it  has  been 
justly  observed,  have  originated  from  men  of  worldly  wis- 
dom and  corrupt  minds,  and  almost  always  from  the  clergy  ; 
but  never  from  humble  students  of  the  divine  writings,  or 
sincere  inquirers  after  truth. 

Among  the  numberless  cases  that  might  be  mentioned  of 
the  double  benefit  which  meek  and  teachable  persons  derive 
from  hearing  and  reading  the  records  of  salvation,  that  of 
Mary  is  one  which  deserves  to  be  noted.  On  one  occasion 
she  exclaimed,  "  I  am  as  ignorant  as  an  animal !"  and  on 
another  she  said,  with  much  earnestness,  that  the  Scriptures 
penetrated  the  marrow  of  her  bones — reminding  me  of  He- 
brews 4:12:  "  The  word  of  God  is  quick,  and  powerful,  and 
sharper  than  any  two-edged  sword,  piercing  even  to  the 
dividing  asunder  of  soul  and  spirit,  and  of  the  joints  and  mar- 
row, and  is  a  discerner  of  the  thoughts  and  intents  of  the 
heart." 


CHAPTER  IV. 
In  reference  to  jpublic  praying  and  chanting  in  Latin, 
and  particularly  of  unlearned  persons  addressing  God  in 
words  which  they  do  not  understand,  I  once  read  to  her  part 
of  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  1st  Corinthians,  laying  great 
stress  on  these  verses,  15-17  :  "I  will  pray  with  the  spirit, 
and  I  will  pray  with  the  understanding  also ;  I  will  sing  with 
the  spirit,  and  I  will  sing  with  the  understanding  also.  Else, 
when  thou  shalt  bless  with  the  spirit,  how  shall  he  that  occu- 


MARY  OF  TOULOUSE.  11 

pieth  the  room  of  the  unlearned  say  Amen  at  thy  giving  of 
thanks,  seeing  he  understandeth  not  what  thou  sayest  ?  For 
thou  verily  givest  thanks  well,  but  the  other  is  not  edified." 
At  another  time  I  read  the  second  chapter  of  the  Acts  of  tho 
Apostles  in  connection  with  this  subject,  when  she  seemed 
to  be  convinced  in  her  judgment  that  prayer  in  an  unknown 
tongue  is  improper. 

Desirous  to  renew  these  conversations  frequently  with 
Mary,  and  perceiving  in  her  an  aptness  for  learning,  I  offered 
to  devote  an  hour  every  afternoon  to  teach  her  to  read,  prom- 
ising at  the  same  time  to  give  her  a  New  Testament  as 
soon  as  she  was  able  to  read  it.  She  gladly  accepted  my  pro- 
posal, and  came  regularly  every  day  from  four  to  five  o'clock. 
These  interesting  lessons  commenced  about  the  middle  of 
November,  and  continued  until  February,  when  they  were 
interrupted  by  my  indisposition.  Our  method  was,  to  precede 
them  by  a  short  prayer ;  both  kneeling,  and  invoking  the  aid 
and  light  of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  guide  teacher  and  learner 
into  all  truth.  Part  of  the  hour  was  spent  in  her  reading, 
and  part  in  my  explanation  of  the  subject,  chiefly  drawn  from 
the  gospel  history,  particularly  from  that  according  to  St. 
John.  These  familiar  lectures  often  called  forth  many  seri- 
ous inquiries  and  pertinent  observations  on  the  part  of  Mary, 
who  once  asked  me,  with  much  solemnity,  whether  I  thought 
it  possible  she  could  be  saved  in  that  communion  in  which 
she  had  been  brought  up.  My  answer  was,  "  With  God 
nothing  is  impossible."  ^  At  another  time  she  observed,  "  If 
what  you  tell  me  be  true,  then  the  chief  part  of  the  inhab* 
itants  of  this  country  are  in  great  error  ;"  and  she  not  unfre- 
quently  expressed  surprise  that  her  master,  a  regular  eccle- 
siastic, had  never  instructed  her  in  those  truths  which  she 
was  now  in  the  habit  of  hearing  daily  from  a  layman.  This 
neglect  did  not,  however,  prevent  her  from  imparting  to  him 
that  knowledge  which  she  was  acquiring  from  day  to  day,  by 
the  teaching  of  the  Spirit  of  truth  ;  and  though  the  abbe  was 


12  MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 

informed  of  the  particulars  of  each  day's  lesson,  he  never  took 
the  least  offence,  but  on  the  contrary  repeatedly  thanked  me 
for  teaching  her,  and  not  seldom  heard  her  repeat  her  lesson 
before  she  came  to  me.  Indeed,  his  behavior  was  always 
kind  and  friendly,  and  I  sometimes  recall  with  mingled 
delight  and  regret  many  winter  evenings  of  social  converse 
near  our  comfortable  log-fire  ;  on  which  occasions  he  partook 
of  bread,  and  fruits,  and  wine,  after  the  custom  of  his  coun- 
try, while  we  refreshed  ourselves,  after  the  English  fashion, 
with  tea  and  toast. 

Having  in  my  possession  a  tract  "  On  the  Employment 
of  the  Sabbath"  I  lent  it  to  Mary  one  Sabbath,  desiring  her 
to  ask  Emily,  a  young  woman  in  the  next  cottage,  to  read  it 
to  her.  In  the  evening  Mary  told  me  that  she  and  another 
female  had  heard  it ;  but,  said  she,  if  its  contents  were  strictly 
observed,  "  I  must  never  handle  a  broom  on  the  Sabbath- 
day."  I  informed  her  that  necessary  work  only  ought  to  be 
done  on  the  Lord's  day.  She  thought  it  would  be  better  if 
all  the  shops  were  closed  on  Sunday ;  for  she  said  that  people 
might  easily  supply  themselves  on  Saturday  with  what  they 
wanted.  I  answered,  "  God's  commands  ought  to  be  obey- 
ed, and  we  should  not  follow  a  multitude  to  do  evil."  "  Cer- 
tainly not,"  she  replied  ;  "  for  if  a  crowd  of  people  choose  to 
drown  themselves,  it  is  no  reason  why  I  should  jump  into  the 
river."  Soon  afterwards  she  added,  "  For  my  part,  I  wish 
to  repent,  and  be  saved."  I  advised  her  to  pray  for  the  Holy 
Spirit ;  and  as  conversion  had  been  mentioned,  I  said  I  would 
read  to  her  something  on  that  subject.  I  then  explained  the 
third  chapter  of  St.  John's  gospel,  where  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  in  a  conversation  with  a  certain  ruler,  declares,  verses 
3,  5,  7,  "  Except  a  man  be  born  again,  he  cannot  see  the 
kingdom  of  God ;"  and,  "  Except  a  man  be  born  of  water 
and  of  the  Spirit,  he  cannot  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God. 
Marvel  not,"  continues  the  Saviour,  "  that  I  said  unto  thee, 
Ye  must  be  born  again." 


MARY  OF  TOULOUSE.  13 

Mary  asked  if  she  had  done  right  in  staying  at  home  that 
afternoon,  for  the  purpose  of  learning  to  read,  instead  of 
taking  her  string  of  beads  to  church,  where  she  said  she 
would  probably  only  gaze  about,  as  others  did,  during  the 
service.  I  told  her,  when  she  was  able  to  read  her  Testa- 
ment, sbe  would  lay  aside  her  beads ;  for  the  word  of  God, 
once  written  in  her  heart,  would  supply  the  place  of  the 
rosary.  I  further  said,  that  if  she  remained  at  home  with 
an  intent  to  learn  to  read  good  books,  she  had  done  well. 
Her  answer  was,  "  I  desire  to  read  no  other  than  good  books  ;" 
and  then  she  spoke  of  Thomas  a  Kempis,  as  one.  This  work 
is  known  in  France  by  the  title  of  "  The  Imitation  of  Jesus 
Christ."  I  commended  its  general  contents,  though  I  could 
not  approve  of  all ;  and  observed,  that  it  was  translated  into 
many  languages  ;  but,  added  I,  those  who  would  imitate 
Jesus  Christ,  must  follow  his  steps.  I  then  turned  to  the 
tenth  chapter  of  John,  and  read  it  to  her,  laying  particular 
stress  on  these  verses,  1,  9,  11,  14,  27,  28  :  "Verily,  verily, 
I  say  unto  you,  he  that  entereth  not  by  the  door  into  the 
sheepfold,  but  climbeth  up  some  other  way,  the  same  is  a 
thief  and  a  robber.  I  am  the  door  :  by  me  if  any  man  enter 
in,  he  shall  be  saved,  and  shall  go  in  and  out,  and  find  pas- 
ture. I  am  the  good  Shepherd  :  the  good  Shepherd  giveth 
his  life  for  the  sheep.  I  am  the  good  Shepherd,  and  know 
my  sheep,  and  am  known  of  mine.  My  sheep  hear  my  voice, 
and  I  know  them,  and  they  follow  me :  and  I  give  unto 
them  eternal  life  ;  and  they  shall  never  perish,  neither  shall 
any  man  pluck  them  out  of  my  hand."  I  pointed  out  Christ 
as  the  only  door  of  admission  into  the  heavenly  fold,  and 
stated,  that  all  who  attempt  to  enter  it  by  their  own  fancied 
good  works  or  deservings,  or  by  any  other  way  than  by  his 
merits,  must  fail,  and  incur  condemnation  ;  that  Jesus  is  also 
the  good  Shepherd,  who  sacrificed  his  life  for  his  believing 
people,  those  once-strayed  and  lost  sheep,  in  whose  recovery 
he  rejoices,  watching  over  them  with  the  tenderest  care,  and 

21* 


1 4  MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 

supplying  all  their  wants ;  that  those  who  belong  to  his 
flock  enjoy  the  comfortable  assurance  of  his  continual  love 
and  protection,  diligently  study  his  word,  obey  his  commands, 
and  copy  his  example.  "  These  shall  never  perish,"  because 
he  has  engaged  to  guide  and  guard  them  through  all  the 
dangers  and  trials  of  life,  and  to  bring  them  at  last%afely  to 
the  fold  of  everlasting  rest. 

These  lectures  and  explanations  were  not  long  continued 
before  a  marked  change  was  very  observable  in  Mary's  be- 
havior. The  Spirit  of  God  had  opened  her  heart,  and 
wrought  wonderfully  in  her.  The  Lord's  day,  so  long  abused 
by  frequenting  the  market  and  the  dance,  and  by  idling  away 
the  intermediate  hours  in  vain  conversation  and  amusement, 
she  now  began  to  hold  in  esteem  and  reverence.  The  dance 
was  given  up,  but  it  was  some  time  before  the  Sunday  mar- 
ket could  be  renounced  ;  at  length,  however,  the  new  nature 
prevailed  over  the  old — grace  triumphed  over  sin — and  she 
was  enabled  to  relinquish  also  this  profane  custom.  The 
conflict  was  probably  hard,  before  her  resolution  was  fixed 
on  this  point,  because  the  comfort  of  her  master,  to  whom 
she  was  much  attached,  was  involved  in  the  decision.  It 
may  not  be  generally  known,  that  the  provisions  brought  to 
the  Sunday  markets  in  France  are  the  most  abundant,  and 
of  the  choicest  kind.  There  she  had  never  failed  to  procure 
the  best  supplies  for  his  table  :  and  it  should  not  be  omitted, 
that  when  Pavilion  cottage  was  hired,  it  was  agreed  that 
Mary  should  market  for  us,  but  no  purchases  were  ever  made 
for  us  on  the  Lord's  day ;  and  though  she  had  repeatedly 
advised  them,  we  had  always  declined  them  for  ourselves, 
and  condemned  them  in  others.  At  length  it  pleased  God 
to  convince  her  that  this  was  a  violation  of  his  Sabbath  ; 
and  one  day  she  informed  me  that  she  had  come  to  a  deter- 
mination to  let  her  master  know  that  she  could  no  longer 
market  for  him  on  Sundays,  because  God  had  commanded 
that  day  to  be  kept  holy.     This  intimation,  which  was  made 


MARY  OF  TOULOUSE.  15 

in  a  respectful  manner,  was  received  by  him  without  anger 
or  displeasure.  The  gardening  was  likewise  discontinued, 
and  ail  unnecessary  work  within  and  without  doors  was  sus- 
pended till  the  following  day. 

A  remarkable  feature  in  my  scholar  was,  an  uncommon 
readiness  of  mind  to  believe  whatever  could  be  proved  to 
her  out  of  holy  Scripture.  She  seemed  to  belong  to  that 
small  class  of  sincere  and  unprejudiced  persons,  in  whom  the 
divine  seed  falling  into  good  ground,  prepared  by  the  secret 
operations  of  the  Spirit,  promises  the  largest  increase,  even 
an  hundred-fold.  One  day,  Mary  with  tears  in  her  eyes 
deeply  lamented  to  me  her  sinfulness.  I  thereupon  reminded 
her  of  these  consolatory  words  of  the  Friend  of  penitent  sin- 
ners :  "Blessed  are  they  that  mourn  ;  for  they  shall  be  com- 
forted."    Matt.  5  : 4. 

On  another  occasion,  when  our  studies  were  over,  and 
she  was  about  to  leave  me.  her  heart  being  full  of  what  she 
had  just  read  and. heard,  she  exclaimed  with  much  earnest- 
ness, "  I  desire  to  give  myself  up  to  God"  I  think  this 
occurred  after  my  having  read  with  her  the  parable  of  the 
creditor  and  debtor,  Luke  7  :  36-50,  which  I  stated  to  be  a 
short  but  clear  exposition  of  the  good  tidings  of  great  joy 
which  were  to  be  published  to  all  people.  Such  was  the 
earnestness  of  her  manner  at  this  time,  and  so  solemn  did 
this  dedication  of  herself  to  her  GJ-od  and  Saviour  appear  to 
me,  that  she  might  well  be  supposed  to  have  then  felt  the 
forcible  language  of  our  Christian  poet : 

"  Earth  shall  never  be  my  care ; 
This  my  only  wish  and  prayer — 
Thine  in  life  and  death  to  be; 
Now,  and  to  eternity  I" 

Mention  has  been  already  made  of  the  string  of  beads 
called  a  rosary,  which  Mary  was  accustomed  to  carry  to 
church.      This  was  purchased  of  those  missionaries  who 


10  MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 

yearly  traverse  different  parts  of  France,  preaching  and 
setting  up  crosses  of  wood  or  stone  on  the  high-roads,  and 
trafficking  in  crucifixes,  images,  and  things  of  that  kind. 
One  of  these  teachers  having  announced  from  the  pulpit 
that  none  of  the  people  could  be  saved  except  they  pur- 
chased rosaries  at  their  booths,  Mary  was  induced  to  try  the 
efficacy  of  this  charm ;  but  no  sooner  were  her  eyes  opened 
to  the  imposition,  than  she  renounced  her  vain  confidence, 
and  offered  to  give  it  to  me.  I  accepted  it,  rejoicing  with 
thanksgiving  at  this  fresh  triumph  of  truth  over  error,  and 
of  light  over  darkness. 

This,  and  similar  superstitions,  had  been  discussed  on 
different  occasions ;  and  on  one  of  these  the  doctrine  and 
practice  of  auricular  confession  became  the  subject  of 
more  serious  conversation.  It  is  commonly  supposed  to  be 
grounded  on  the  apostle's  words,  "  Confess  your  faults  one 
to  another."  Jas.  5:16.  I  therefore  endeavored  to  convince 
her  that  this  could  not  mean  that  the  people  were  to  confess 
their  sins  to  their  priest,  for  then  it  would  be  equally  the 
priest's  duty  to  confess  his  sins  to  his  people,  because  it  is 
written,  Confess  one  to  another.  But  as  the  apostle  like- 
wise adds  immediately,  and  pray  one  for  anotJier}  it  follows, 
that  if  the  priest  is  not  bound  to  confess  to  the  people,  nei- 
ther is  it  his  duty  to  pray  for  them,  or  that  of  the  congre- 
gation to  pray  for  their  pastor.  The  true  sense,  I  thought, 
seemed  to  be  this  :  that  it  is  the  duty  of  every  Christian  to 
acknowledge  the  faults  and  trespasses  he  commits  against 
his  neighbor ;  to  ask  his  forgiveness ;  and  each  is  required 
to  pray  for  the  other  :  but  priests  and  people  are  alike  bound 
to  confess  their  sins,  not  to  men,  for  all  are  sinners,  but  to 
txod,  who  only  can  pardon  and  absolve  transgressors. 


CHAPTER  V. 
Mary  not  only  felt  a  deep  concern  for  her  own  soul,  but 
soon  showed  her  love  for  the  souls  of  others  ;  and  this  ap- 


MARY  OP  TOULOUSE.  17 

m 

peared  in  different  ways.  Her  master's  friends,  some  of 
whom  were  priests,  came  occasionally  to  see  him  ;  and  after 
Mary  received  the  New  Testament,  she  took  every  opportu- 
nity of  producing  the  gift  of  the  English  traveller,  extolling 
it  at  the  same  time  as  a  good  book.  The  abbe's  elder 
brother  was  of  the  number  of  those  visitors.  He  was  a 
layman,  between  seventy  and  eighty  years  of  age,  on  whom 
Mary's  arguments  had  so  good  an  effect,  that  he  was  per- 
suaded to  purchase  a  copy  of  the  New  Testament  in  the 
town.  I  had  an  interview  with  him  in  the  evening,  and 
Mary  exhibited  the  purchase  with  exultation.  Some  tracts 
were  added  to  Mons.  T 's  parcel,  which  he  gladly  ac- 
cepted, and  took  home  with  him  the  following  day. 

Another  instance  of  Mary's  desire  to  benefit  others  was, 
that  observing  I  was  in  the  habit  of  distributing  tracts,  she 
asked  me  to  allow  her  to  do  the  same ;  or,  to  use  her  own 
words,  to  act  the  part  of  a  missionary.  Though  I  did  not 
judge  this  advisable,  I  yet  remember  having  intrusted  to 
her  care  two  tracts,  one  of  which,  "Serious  Thoughts  on 
Eternity,"  was  for  the  particular  use  of  her  master,  and 
given  at  his  own  request ;  and  the  other  was  intended  for 
one  of  her  acquaintances  in  the  city. 

A  further  evidence  of  her  love  and  solicitude  for  the  best, 
the  eternal  interests  of  others,  is,  that  just  before  Christmas, 
when  her  youngest  sister,  who  was  married  and  settled  at 
Castelnaudry,  came  to  spend  a  day  with  Mary,  she  brought 
her  to  me,  and  entreated  me  to  speak  to  her  on  the  subject 
of  religion.  She  had  previously  hinted  to  me  that  her 
sister's  husband  had  a  great  desire  to  learn  to  read,  profiting 
by  every  leisure  moment ;  and  that  he  had  even  been  seen 
with  a  book  in  his  hand  while  in  the  field  ;  but  that  this 
thirst  for  knowledge  displeased  his  wife  much,  and  she  made 
his  home  very  disagreeable,  which  sometimes  obliged  him  to 
retire  for  quiet  into  the  stable.  In  the  same  house  with 
Mary's  relatives  lived  three  brothers,  who  were  all  as  desir- 

Eleg.  Nar.  42 


18  MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 

ous  as  himself  to  acquire  the  art  of  reading.  After  speaking 
seriously  to  her  sister  about  her  opposition  to  her  husband, 
and  also  concerning  her  own  state,  I  read  to  her  some  por- 
tions of  the  word  of  God,  to  which  she  listened  with  deep 
attention ;  ,and  before  she  left  me,  her  opinion  seemed  so 
much  changed,  that  she  gladly  received  four  Testaments  and 
some  tracts  for  her  husband  and  his  fellow-lodgers,  and 
another  set  of  books  for  the  schoolmaster  of  the  place  where 
she  resided ;  and  I  was  much  gratified  by  her  assurance,  that 
she  would  never  again  molest  her  husband,  but  rather  en- 
courage his  reading. 

Mary  and  her  sister  attended  our  family  prayers  that 
evening,  when  another  portion  was  read  out  of  the  New 
Testament ;  and  early  the  next  morning  the  latter  returned 
home  in  the  barge,  and  some  days  afterwards  sent  me  word 
that  all  the  books  were  thankfully  welcomed. 

I  could  never  discover  that  any  adult  school  existed  in 
France.  I  exceedingly  lamented  this  great  deficiency,  and 
that  some  part  of  the  misspent  and  profaned  Sabbaths  was 
not  applied  to  teach  the  ignorant  and  unlettered  poor  to  read 
the  words  of  eternal  life. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
A  diversity  of  opinion  was  now  apparent  in  Toulouse 
and  its  neighborhood  concerning  the  holy  Scriptures,  both 
priests  and  people  being  divided  as  to  its  being  good  or  evil 
for  all  persons  to  read  the  sacred  volume.  Besides  the  ad- 
joining cottage,  where  Emily  resided  with  her  parents,  there 
were  two  others  very  near  the  abbe's.  One  belonged  to 
Mons.  S.,  formerly  a  commissary  of  the  French  army  in 
Spain,  who  lived  with  his  wife  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  quiet 
retreat,  and  a  sufficient  income.  The  other  was  tenanted 
by  a  peasant,  whose  wife  Cecile  supplied  us  with  milk. 
These  last  had  a  daughter  about  thirteen,  named  Louise,  to 


MARY  OF  TOULOUSE.  19 

whom  I  gave  a  Testament  as  a  new-year's  gift,  and  wrote 
under  her  name,  "  From  a  child  thou  hast  known  the  holy 
Scriptures,  which  are  able  to  make  thee  wise  unto  salvation 
through  faith  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus."  2  Tim.  3  :  15. 
This  girl,  who  went  to  a  school  kept  by  the  new  order  of 
nuns,  called  Sisters  of  Charity,  took  great  delight  in  read- 
ing the  Scriptures  to  her  mother,  who  had  never  been  taught 
to  read.  One  day  when  Cecile,  in  conversation  with  a 
female  acquaintance,  was  commending  what  she  had  heard 
her  daughter  read  out  of  the  New  Testament,  she  was 
greatly  surprised  to  hear  from  the  woman  that  it  was  a  bad 
book  ;  and  because  it  came,  as  she  said,  from  a  heretic,  she 
told  her  she  was  committing  a  great  sin  in  retaining  it. 
Cecile,  alarmed  and  terrified,  desired  her  daughter  to  take 
it  to  the  grand-vicar  for  his  opinion  concerning  it.  The 
girl  went  and  delivered  it  into  his  hands.  As  soon  as  the 
grand-vicar  perceived  it  was  the  New  Testament,  he  shut 
the  book  and  calmly  put  it  into  his  pocket,  telling  the  girl 
that  it  was  a  book  formerly  prohibited.  Louise  went  away 
with  a  sorrowful  face,  lamenting  the  loss  of  her  pretty  book, 
After  waiting  several  days  without  hearing  more  of  it,  she 
informed  one  of  the  nuns  of  my  present,  and  how  the  grand- 
vicar  had  kept  it,  when  she  went  to  ask  his  opinion  of  it. 
The  nun's  curiosity  being  excited  to  see  the  book,  she  desired 
Louise  to  request  the  grand-vicar  to  send  it  to  her.  Louise 
set  off  immediately,  and  quickly  returned  with  it ;  and,  after 
examination,  the  nuns  pronounced  it  to  be  a  good  book,  in 
spite  of  former  prohibitions.  It  was  then  restored  to  the 
child,  who  was  overjoyed  at  again  having  the  lost  treasuie 
in  her  possession. 

Another  Testament  was  presented  Jto  the  commissary's 
wife,  who  kindly  received  it,  though  she  feared  to  use  it 
before  she  had  obtained  the  approval  of  an  ecclesiastic.  She 
therefore  desired  her  nephew,  who  was  a  student  at  the 
seminary,  to  show  it  to  the  director,  who  was  a  priest ;  but 


20  MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 

he  instantly  condemned  it  as  a  book  which  deserved  to  be 

burned.     Madame   S being  very   unwilling   to   carry 

the  sentence  into  execution,  thought  it  right  to  take  first 
another  opinion.  She  accordingly  applied  to  her  own  con- 
fessor, who  declared  it  to  be  a  proper  booh  for  her. 

Mary  had  likewise  told  her  confessor  that  she  had  received 
a  similar  gift  from  me  ;  upon  which  she  was  cautioned  not 
to  read  too  much  in  it,  lest  it  should  divert  her  mind  from 
the  duties  of  her  religion. 

This  variety  of  sentiment,  I  think,  did  much  in  estab- 
lishing the  fame  of  the  New  Testament  as  a  good  book,  not 
only  in  the  two  adjacent  cottages,  but  also  in  the  minds  of 
Mary  and  Emily,  who  likewise  received  one  from  me.  All 
the  Testaments  distributed  were  of  the  same  version — De 
Sacy's — the  one  generally  approved  by  those  French  Roman- 
ists who  know  something  of  the  value  of  the  oracles  of  God. 

Mary  continued  her  daily  study  of  the  Scriptures  till 
about  the  middle  of  February,  three  months  from  its  com- 
mencement. An  interruption  occurred  at  this  period,  in 
consequence  of  a  severe  illness,  which  prevented  me  for  some 
weeks  from  attending  to  any  business.  Mary  showed  during 
that  season  of  trial  a  most  affectionate  concern  for  her  in- 
structor, by  her  eager  activity  to  contribute  by  every  means 
in  her  power  to  my  relief  and  comfort.  She  was  always 
ready  to  run  to  the  physician  or  chemist,  to  the  shops  or  the 
market,  in  order  to  procure  what  was  wanting.  At  one 
time  she  seemed  to  think  my  recovery  hopeless,  saying, 
"He  will  certainly  die,  and  go  to  heaven."  But  the  Lord 
and  Giver  of  life — blessed  be  his  holy  name — willed  it  other- 
wise. He  spared  and  raised  me  up  to  renewed  health  and 
vigor.  When  restored  to  strength,  I  offered  her  a  pecuniary 
recompense  for  all  her  kindness  during  my  sickness,  but  she 
was  unwilling  to  take  it ;  and  I  was  obliged  to  insist  on  her 
receiving  some  remuneration  besides  my  grateful  acknow- 
ledgments, before  she  would  consent. 


MARY  OF  TOULOUSE.  21 

The  study  of  the  Scriptures  was  now  resumed  and  con- 
tinued till  the  period  of  our  departure,  which  was  fast  ap- 
proaching. By  the  end  of  February  the  winter  had  nearly 
disappeared,  with  scarcely  a  flake  of  snow  left  except  on  the 
neighboring  mountains,  which  were  well  clad  with  it.  A 
hoarfrost  covered  the  ground  by  night ;  but  this  was  quickly 
dissipated  by  the  returning  sun,  which  now  beamed  forth 
with  great  force,  giving  new  life  to  the  vegetable  creation. 
Though  the  winters  in  that  region  are  by  no  means  severe, 
it  is  nevertheless  visited  by  many  a  keen  blast  from  the 
Atlantic  ocean  and  the  Pyrenees,  and  in  1819  the  river 
Garonne  was  passable  on  the  ice.  The  spring  sets  in  about 
three  weeks  sooner  than  in  England.  In  February  the  al- 
mond-tree abounded  in  blossoms,  and  in  March  a  species  of 
the  pear-tree  was  in  full  bloom.  At  this  early  season  the 
vine-dressers  were  busy  in  pruning  the  vines,  which  grow 
there  like  gooseberry-bushes,  requiring  neither  props  nor 
runners.  The  sprigs  of  the  vine  are  then  lopped  off  near 
the  stem,  leaving  it  about  two  feet  above  ground.  Many  dry 
sticks  are  thus  gathered  for  firing  from  the  superfluous  with- 
ered branches,  while  the  pruned  ones  become  more  vigorous 
and  productive :  the  former  aptly  representing  to  the  Chris- 
tian spectator  the  end  of  all  dead,  fruitless,  hypocritical  pro- 
fessors in  Christ's  church  ;  and  the  latter  exhibiting  the  true 
and  living  disciples,  who,  though  pruned  by  sharp  trials, 
have  still  an  abiding  union  with  Christ,  and  deriving  from 
him  all  sap  and  strength,  yield  more  abundant  fruits  of  the 
Spirit,  to  the  praise  and  glory  of  God.     John  15  :  1-8. 

On  the  4th  of  April,  we  took  our  departure  from  Tou- 
louse. It  was  a  day  of  gloom  and  sorrow  to  us,  as  well  as 
to  some  whom  we  were  leaving  behind.  Mary  was  so  greatly 
affected  that  she  was  incapable  of  rendering  us  any  assist- 
ance. She  stood  like  a  statue  on  the  threshold  of  the  door, 
and  with  tears  in  her  eyes  and  a  faltering  voice,  entreated 

me  to  pray  for  her.     When  all  the  neighbors  wished  us  a 

42* 


22  MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 

prosperous  journey,  she  remained  motionless  and  speechless, 
absorbed  in  pensiveness  and  grief.  At  length  the  moment 
of  separation  arrived.  "We  commended  her  to  God,  and  the 
word  of  his  grace,  which  was  able  to  build  her  up,  and  give 
her  an  inheritance  among  them  who  are  sanctified  by  faith 
in  Christ  Jesus,  Acts  20  :  32  ;  and  afterwards  we  gave  her, 
and  all  around  us,  the  parting  farewell.  As  the  carriage 
descended  towards  the  gate  of  St.  Etienne,  we  cast  a  long, 
lingering  look  at  Pavilion  cottage,  admiring  the  wonderful 
grace  of  God,  arud  the  wisdom  of  his  providence,  in  fixing 
our  habitation  in  that  particular  spot. 

The  kind  abbe  accompanied  us  to  the  end  of  the  first 
stage,  but  long  before  we  reached  it,  the  tear  was  visible  in 
his  eye  :  and  when  the  moment  of  our  separation  from  hirg 
arrived,  feeling  perhaps  that  we  might  never  meet  again 
till  the  general  assembly  before  the  judgment-seat  of  Christ, 
he  became  much  agitated  ;  his  heart  was  full,  and  his  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  We  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  one 
another,  and  then  pursued  our  opposite  courses ;  we  towards 
Villefranche,  and  he  towards  Toulouse.  Our  friend  the 
abbe  had  taken  the  precaution  to  apprize  his  brother  of  the 
exact  time  when  we  should  reach  his  house,  which  lay  in 
our  direct  route  ;  and  when  we  alighted  at  his  door,  he  gave 
us  a  very  hospitable  reception,  and  comfortable  refreshment. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

After  passing  an  hour  and  a  half  with  Mons.  T , 

we  prosecuted  our  journey  towards  Nice,  visiting  on  the 
way  Montpellier,  and  other  populous  cities,  towns,  and  vil- 
lages in  the  south.  The  country  we  traversed  abounded 
in  olive-trees,  which  presented  a  desolate  appearance ;  the 
greater  part  having  been  smitten  by  the  frost  the  preceding 
year.  Those  that  survived  the  severe  cold  were  now  in 
blossom.  This  tree  is  an  evergreen,  and  grows  to  a  good 
height ;  its  leaf  resembles  that  of  the  willow,  and  its  trunk 


MARY  OF  TOULOUSE.  23 

assumes  every  fantastic  form.  On  one  occasion  we  remarked 
the  olive-tree,  the  vine,  and  the  corn  all  growing  together  in 
one  field ;  thus  combining  in  one  view,  three  of  the  choicest 
products  of  the  earth  which  the  bounteous  Giver  of  all 
good  dispenses  to  ungrateful  man.  At  Nice,  a  town  lying 
on  the  Mediterranean,  and  on  the  frontier  of  Italy,  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  the  abbe,  in  reply  to  one  sent  to  him 
on  my  journey,  and  it  contained  this  pleasing  intelligence  : 
"My  own  health,  Mary's,  and  her  father's  is  very  good. 
I  did  not  forget  to  inform  Mary  of  your  kindness  in  seeing 
her  brother-in-law,  and  putting  into  his  hands  '  the  word 
of  God,'  for  which  she  requests  me  to  express  her  grateful 
acknowledgment." 

After  spending  several  weeks  in  Nice,  we  crossed  in  the 
middle  of  June  the  high  Alps  by  a  dangerous  road,  the  Col 
di  Tende,  part  of  which  was  covered  with  snow.  Thence 
we  descended  into  the  valleys  of  Piedmont,  where  God  has 
preserved,  from  the  first  planting  of  Christianity  in  Italy,  a 
church  uncorrupted  in  doctrine  by  any  of  those  errors  and 
superstitions  which  degrade  the  neighboring  region.  The 
lamp  of  truth  still  shines  amidst  the  surrounding  darkness, 
and  in  the  history  of  that  community  has  been  literally  ful- 
filled the  Redeemer's  promise  to  his  church,  "  The  gates  of 
hell  shall  not  prevail  against  it."  From  Piedmont  we  jour- 
neyed through  many  famed  cities,  which  lie  on  the  great 
road  leading  to  Rome.  Crossing  the  Apennine  mountains 
beyond  Bologna,  the  eye  of  the  traveller  is  delighted  with 
a  view  of  several  hamlets  and  cottages,  which  serve  to  be- 
guile the  weariness  of  the  passage  over  that  desert.  Night 
brought  us  to  the  handsome  city  of  Florence,  whence  we 
proceeded  to  the  ancient  capital  of  the  world ;  and  there, 
while  surveying  the  ruins  of  palaces  and  theatres,  and 
mourning  over  the  surrounding  spiritual  desolation,  we  un- 
expectedly received  the  melancholy  intelligence  of  the  re- 
moval of  poor  Mary  by  death.     No  previous  information  of 


24  MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 

her  illness  had  reached  us,  nor  any  further  accounts  of  her 
since  the  abbe's  letter  in  May ;  we  were,  therefore,  the 
more  shocked  by  the  unexpected  account  of  her  death,  an 
event  afterwards  confirmed  by  a  second  letter  from  the  abbe, 
giving  some  particulars.     The  substance  is  as  follows. 

"  Your  letter,  my  dear  sir,  drew  from  me  tears  of  joy  and 
sorrow :  joy,  in  hearing  that  you  and  your  family  enjoyed 
good  health ;  and  sorrow,  in  the  revival  of  my  grief  for  my 
irreparable  loss.  I  am  quite  sure  that  you  participate  in 
my  sorrow  on  this  mournful  occasion.  Mary  was  deeply 
regretted  by  all  who  knew  her.  Her  rare  virtues  and  her 
good  temper  made  her  beloved  by  all.  You  desire  to  know 
some  particulars  of  her  illness,  and  the  good  disposition  she 
manifested  before  her  decease ;  but  in  order  to  satisfy  your 
inquiries,  I  must  enter  into  a  very  distressing  detail. 

"  The  day  of  your  departure  was  a  day  of  mourning 
both  to  myself  and  Mary.  From  that  fatal  hour  she  lost 
her  natural  gayety,  and  found  comfort  in  nothing  but  in  the 
the  study  of  the  precious  book — le  livre  d'or — which  you 
had  given  her,  for  she*  never  forgot  the  good  sentiments  you 
had  impressed  on  her  mind. 

"  Five  days  after  you  left  us,  your  apartments  were  taken 
by  three  young  men,  one  of  whom  was  ill,  suffering  from 
disease  of  the  lungs.  Doctor  R was  called  in,  and  ap- 
plied a  large  blister  to  his  chest.  Mary  nursed  him  with 
the  tenderness  of  a  mother.  This  distressing  and  disagree- 
able circumstance,  added  to  the  business  of  the  house,  and 
the  necessary  errands,  made  her  neglectful  of  her  own  health, 
which  was  then  in  a  critical  state,  requiring  much  rest  and 
eare.  On  the  2d  of  June,  I  felt  so  indisposed  after  my  re- 
turn from  town  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  that  it  was 
thought  I  had  taken  a  serious  illness.  Mary  was  greatly 
distressed  and  alarmed  about  me,  and  was  unfortunately 
incapable  of  rendering  me  any  assistance.  Medical  aid  was 
obtained  ;  several  draughts  were  ordered  for  me,  as  well  as 


MARY  OF  TOULOUSE.  25 

the  application  of  leeches.  My  illness  lasted  six  weeks, 
during  which  period  Mary,  in  spite  of  her  own  indisposition, 
endeavored  to  do  all  she  could  for  me,  but  would  take  no 
medicine  herself  until  I  was  restored.  Meanwhile  her  ill- 
ness daily  increased,  and  she  became  very  weak.  The  doc- 
tor's prescriptions  were  useless,  for  she  took  medicine  only 
once  or  twice,  and  then  omitted  it,  depending  on  the  strength 
of  her  constitution.  A  week  before  she  died,  she  took  what- 
ever was  ordered  for  her ;  but  medical  skill  was  then  of  no 
avail.  A  consultation  took  place.  On  the  19th  of  August, 
at  two  in  the  morning,  she  became  so  feeble  that  she  fainted 
for  some  time.  I  was  instantly  called,  and  hastened  to  her, 
but  found  her  dying.  Her  mind  was  quite  clear,  as  it  was 
throughout  her  illness.  I  seized  this  favorable  moment  to 
give  her  all  the  spiritual  consolation  in  my  power,  and  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  resigned  to  death — to  sleep  in 
the  arms  of  her  Beloved,  who  has  taken  her  to  his  bosom. 
I  doubt  not  she  is  now  happy.  May  the  Lord  grant  us  all 
the  same  favor.  She  surrendered  her  spirit  to  God  in  the 
best  religious  frame,  in  the  presence  of  many,  who  were 
dissolved  in  tears.  Her  poor  father  will  remain  with  me  for 
the  comfort  of  each  other  in  our  irreparable  loss. 

"  I  shall  carefully  keep  the  precious  present  you  made  to 
Mary,  and  thence  I  shall  draw  all  my  consolation ;  and  will 
never  cease  in  my  prayers  to  God  to  implore  the  preserva- 
tion of  your  own  life  and  that  of  your  connections.  My 
elder  brother  is  much  obliged  by  your  remembrance  of  him  ; 
also  M.  and  Madame  S. 

"  On  the  19th  of  October  I  again  let  the  cottage,  but  my 
tenants  quitted  it  in  six  weeks  ;  so  that  I  am  now  without 
society,  absorbed  in  recollections  and  sorrow,  which  over 
whelm  me. 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  my  dear  sir, 

"  Your  most  affectionate  servant, 

i<  HH » 

VOL. 


26  MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 

Mary's  life  and  death  are  full  of  salutary  instruction. 
The  reader  of  this  narrative  will  remember  how  very  differ- 
ent her  character  and  dispositions  were  before  and  after  her 
conversion  to  God.  Before  she  had  received  a  new  heart 
and  a  right  spirit,  she  was  debased  by  foolish  superstitions 
and  fatal  ignorance  of  the  only  way  of  salvation,  pursuing 
a  course  of  vanity  and  sin ;  yet  all  the  while  under  the 
strange  delusion  that  she  was  a  Christian,  because  born  and 
baptized  in  the  church  of  her  fathers.  But  no  sooner  were 
her  eyes  opened  to  see  her  guilt  and  danger — no  sooner  was 
she  brought  by  divine  merc;f  to  weep  over  her  sins,  and  turn 
from  the  error  of  her  ways  to  that  Redeemer  who  is  not  less 
willing  than  mighty  to  save  all  who  come  unto  God  by  him, 
than  we  behold  her  reverencing  that  sacred  day  which  she 
had  so  long  slighted  and  abused — we  see  her  diligently  em- 
ployed from  day  to  day,  and  sometimes  for  hours  together,  in 
the  study  of  God's  holy  will  and  commandments,  and  testify- 
ing her  love  to  her  Saviour  by  various  acts  of  kindness  and 
affection,  more  particularly  by  zeal  and  solicitude  for  the 
eternal  welfare  of  her  fellow-creatures  ;  evidencing,  in  short, 
throughout  her  latter  days,  both  in  life  and  conversation, 
that  she  was  a  new  creature,  "delivered  from  the  power  of 
darkness,  and  translated  into  the  kingdom  of  God's  dear 
Son."  "Who  that  remembers  her  earnest  desire  to  give  up 
herself  to  God  and  be  saved,  can  doubt  her  having  chosen, 
with  her  namesake  of  old,  that  good  part  which  shall  never 
be  taken  from  her  ?  Luke  10  :  42.  Or  who  can  hesitate  to 
believe  that  she  is  now  numbered  with  those  myriads  of 
angelic  spirits  who  are  incessantly  chanting  the  new  song 
of  the  ledeemed  :  u  Worthy  is  the  Lamb  that  was  slain  to 
receive  power,  and  riches,  and  wisdom,  and  strength,  and 
honor,  and  glory,  and  blessing."  "  Salvation  to  our  God 
which  sitteth  upon  the  throne,  and  unto  the  Lamb,"  "Rev. 
5:12;  7:10. 

Mary's  speedy  removal  from  this  transitory  state  of  exist- 


MARY  OF  TOULOUSE.  £7 

ence  is  a  warning  voice  to  all  who  have  yet  to  pass  into  the 
eternal  world.  It  is  a  voice  from  her  tomb  admonishing 
high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  young  and  aged,  "  Prepare  to 
meet  thy  God." 

Mary  was  of  a  good  constitution  of  body,  accustomed  to 
the  hardships  of  labor  and  the  vicissitudes  of  weather,  and 
was  besides  in  excellent  health  not  long  before  she  was  over- 
taken by  that  illness  which  laid  her  cold  corpse  in  the  grave. 
But  every  day's  experience  only  serves  to  confirm  the  ob- 
servation, that  whenever  God  is  pleased  to  send  his  mes- 
senger to  cut  down  the  full-ripe  corn,  or  the  fruitless  tree — 
one  for  the  granary,  and  the  other  for  burning — neither 
health,  nor  youth,  nor  rank,  nor  riches  can  stay  his  hand. 
"  By  one  man  sin  entered  into  the  world,  and  death  by  sin  ; 
and  so  death  passed  upon  all  men,  for  that  all  have  sinned." 
Reader,  beware  lest  death  surprise  you  in  your  sins.  Repent 
and  believe  the  gospel,  before  it  be  too  late  to  flee  from  the 
wrath  to  come.  Pray  fervently  that,  through  the  grace  of 
the  Lord  Jesus  and  the  aid  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  you  may  be 
turned  from  darkness  to  light,  and  from  the  power  of  Satan 
unto  God ;  otherwise  you  will  perish  in  your  sins,  and  bo 
cast  into  the  lake  of  unquenchable  fire,  where  there  is  weep- 
ing, and  wailing,  and  gnashing  of  teeth  for  ever  and  ever. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Frequent  allusion  has  been  made  to  the  kind  and  amia- 
ble conduct  of  our  host ;  but  truth  compels  me  to  declare, 
that  though  an  acknowledged  minister  of  Christ,  he  was  as 
lamentably  ignorant  of  the  gospel  as  most  of  his  neighbors. 
"  If  the  blind  lead  the  blind,  both,"  as  says  our  Saviour, 
"shall  fall  into  the  ditch."  In  proof  of  the  abbe's  igno- 
rance of  true  religion,  we  need  only  refer  to  the  superstitious 
inscription  suspended  in  his  apartment,  his  bequest  for 
masses  to  extricate  his  own  soul  from  an  imaginary  place 


28  MARY  OF  TOULOUSE. 

called  purgatory,  and  his  neglect  of  the  spiritual  and  eter- 
nal welfare  of  his  household  and  neighbors.  Whether  it 
has  since  pleased  the  God  of  all  grace  to  show  him  his  dan- 
ger and  lead  him  to  Christ,  the  only  refuge  for  lost  sinners, 
I  know  not ;  but  I  love  to  cherish  the  hope,  that  by  the 
teaching  of  the  Holy  Spirit  our  conversations  may  have  been 
blessed  to  the  conversion  of  his  soul,  and  that  he  may  indeed 
have  drawn  all  his  consolation  from  that  fountain  of  truth 
where  Mary  imbibed  her  saving  knowledge  ;  which,  while 
it  proved  the  comfort  of  her  latter  days,  was  doubtless  also 
her  support  when  passing  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow 
of  death. 

Since  the  abbe's  second  letter,  and  after  different  inqui- 
ries, I  at  length  received  a  communication  from  his  niece, 
five  years  later,  informing  me  of  his  passage  from  time  into 
eternity.  No  particulars  were  given  of  his  dying  sentiments, 
or  of  the  date  of  his  departure. 

Thus  have  both  master  and  servant  been  summoned  to 
that  final  account  which  all  must  render  at  the  tribunal  of 
Christ.  Their  lot  is  cast,  either  for  endless  happiness  or 
endless  misery  ;  and  in  a  few  years,  or  months,  or  days,  the 
hand  that  now  writes  may  be  motionless,  and  the  eye  that 
now  reads  may  be  sightless.  See,  reader,  that  you  now  lay 
this  instruction  to  heart.  Seek  to  profit  by  it ;  and,  above 
all,  seek  grace  from  God  to  study,  believe,  and  obey  the 
blessed  volume  of  inspiration — God's  holy  book.  Read  it 
for  yourself,  or  hear  it  read  by  another ;  examine  it  well, 
and  pray  over  it  fervently  ;  and  neglect  not  to  impart  to  all 
within  your  reach  the  words  of  eternal  life.  Hide  not  from 
others  this  key  of  knowledge  ;  bury  not  this  inestimable 
talent ;  lest  you  not  only  shut  out  tJiem  from  the  kingdom 
of  heaven,  but  yourself  also,  and  bring  on  your  own  head  a 
greater  condemnation. 


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